


gathered on wings

by Brooklyn_Babylon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Artist Harry Styles, Artist Louis Tomlinson, Coming In Pants, Couch Sex, Curator Louis, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom Louis Tomlinson, Edging, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Harry in Panties, Harry is 26, Hurt/Comfort, I swear there's fluff and banter too, In case you were wondering, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Feminization, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Nightmares, Older Louis, Painter Harry, Poor Harry Styles, Rich Louis Tomlinson, Riding, Sculptor Louis, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Slut Shaming, Sorry I keep forgetting things!, Spanking, Sub Harry Styles, Sugar Baby Harry Styles, Tate Modern, Under-negotiated Kink, Use of the words pussy cunt and slut, Younger Harry, Zayn and Niall are only mentioned...sorry!!, but very little, just a little, louis is 33, role play, they do more than just fuck, they kind of share that, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brooklyn_Babylon/pseuds/Brooklyn_Babylon
Summary: As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way he stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. Heliterallycouldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.-----What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist.What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way.Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for.Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 255
Kudos: 849





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There would be nothing written here if it weren't for [India](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com/). She's been the most patient, encouraging, and inspiring person to bounce ideas off of and I'm eternally grateful for her diligence in helping me with this. As I've said before, she's an editing goddess. [Liz](https://cuethetommo.tumblr.com/) is the world's best at seeing the big picture and cutting out the superfluous. I'm especially grateful to her for helping me with continuity and commentary on social issues. Plus, she's the best cheerleader when it comes to writing smut. Thank you to the lovely [Helene](https://hellnrocksstuff.tumblr.com/) for making sure the little bits of French in here don't sound horrific. And my Brit picker extraordinaire (and friend), [Emma](https://sashinalash.tumblr.com/), who corrected my Americanisms and enthusiastically read the final version before posting. Thank you all so much for your time and skill. I appreciate it so much. They're all amazing, but all mistakes are my own.
> 
>   
> Everyone was incredibly encouraging and kind about my first fic, so I decided to try another one. It was meant to be another PWP, but as you can see by the word count... it's not. LOL! I had a lot of fun writing this one and I hope you enjoy it. I did my very best to research the world the boys are living in, but there are certain things you'll have to suspend disbelief for. If anyone reading this knows more than I do about the world of high end art, I apologize for the mistakes that may be there.
> 
>   
> The title is from a quote from a book by Theodore Dreiser which reads in its entirety as: _Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail._ For me, it summed up a lot about the characters in this fic.

_“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time”_

_\- Thomas Merton_

**Present Day**

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Harry said quietly. “I know it’s important.”

As he spoke, Harry wandered into his walk-in closet. Trailing his fingertips along the sequins, lace, and silks, he slowly looked through his wardrobe. 

“What do you think I should wear?” He bit his lip as his eyes landed on his lingerie drawer.

Scoffing, he moved to cradle the phone between his shoulder and ear and drew out a delicate pair of lavender knickers. “I know _you_ don’t care what I wear, Niall.”

Laying the tiny piece of lace and satin back in the drawer, he smirked, “But _some_ people might feel otherwise.” 

\---

The boisterous sounds of the reception hit Harry full blast as he pulled open the heavy gallery doors and made his way inside the brightly lit space. The usual high-end art crowd was there, but tonight there was a different kind of buzz. The artist everyone was there for had become the darling of the New York and London art scenes––their large-scale installations were drooled over, their paintings sold in the seven-figure range, and their sculptures were coveted by collectors. Yet, no one knew anything about the artist, outside of their art and their name: Comrade. 

Their art’s ‘fuck the establishment’ vibe thrilled the bourgeois crowd who fooled themselves into thinking they were in on the joke. Some of the pieces were political. Some of it was controversial. All of it made you think. Rumour had it that he donated the vast majority of what he earned from his art––as if to make a point about better ways to spend your money. People often said Comrade was the new Banksy. But it was more like, if Stormzy and Banksy had a baby, they would be Comrade. 

Walking slowly through the exhibition, Harry sipped his champagne and internally rolled his eyes at the pretentious snippets of conversation he caught. 

_“With regard to the issue of content, the metaphorical resonance of the negative space notates the distinctive…”_

_“It's difficult to enter into this work because of how the internal dynamic of the spatial relationships…”_

As much as he disliked most of the people at these events, Harry knew he was lucky to have finagled an invitation. This wasn’t your usual Friday evening for an MFA student––Niall was right, tonight was important. Harry was newly single and not having a current ‘benefactor’ was weighing on him. So far, his boyfriends had been the key to paying for his tuition and having his art displayed in the homes of dozens of society’s most influential. But he wasn’t going to be young and beautiful forever, so connecting with as many gallery owners, art dealers, and art patrons as possible––before he was too old to be wanted as someone’s arm candy––was his top priority these days. He was never going back to living hand to mouth; he had plans and he was going to make them happen. Anyway, he’d got this far through raw talent and by sheer force of will––even if _some_ people whispered that he’d slept his way to every accolade. Dating wealthy, older men wasn’t a crime. It was a _preference_. 

Still, Harry felt his ears burning, not entirely impervious to the gossip.

“ _That’s Christopher Kincaid’s ex. I’ve heard quite a few juicy things about him…”_

_“Did you see who’s here? Probably on the prowl for his next sugar daddy…”_

Shaking off his irritation, Harry moved from one piece of art to the next, occasionally stopping to air kiss and make small talk with people he recognised. Eventually, he ended up in front of a [ large installation](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/616972240709353472/sophiegunnol-tara-donovan). Made out of thousands of clear plastic cups arranged in varying heights, it seemed to be undulating across the floor. Smiling to himself, Harry became aware that the person next to him had moved close enough to brush against his arm. While he was serious about his art, and knew networking was key, Harry wasn’t above flirting to make that networking happen.

“What do you make of it, then?” As if a distant memory had ghosted through him, the soft, raspy voice next to him sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

Keeping his eyes forward, Harry began, “I quite like it, actually.” Then, taking a slow sip from his glass, he lowered his voice. “There’s something sensual about how it moves through the room.”

A deep hum came from the man next to him, “Hmmm. Yes, I suppose one could imagine the movement of a hand across a lover’s body.” His voice seemed slightly closer, slightly deeper. “Or maybe the water as it laps against one’s nakedness as they bathe…”

Harry swallowed roughly. Oh, tonight might be more fun than he’d expected. “Yes… I- I can imagine that.”

The man gave a throaty chuckle and said, “What about that piece to your right? Do you have a similar… sensation when you see it?”

Harry bit his lip and smiled. He knew how to play this game. 

“Yes… the way it curves around into that asymmetrical slope?” He curled his hand through the air as he spoke, “It feels as if the artist was imagining cupping flesh in his palm.”

The man coughed slightly. Harry grinned as he took another sip of champagne. 

“You like their work then? You don’t find it, perhaps… mundane?”

“But that’s what I love about it,” Harry began, gesturing with excitement towards the sculpture suspended from the ceiling. “The materials are commonplace, everyday items that you wouldn't really notice, normally. But the way Comrade puts it all together…” 

Momentarily forgetting their flirting, Harry turned towards the person next to him and lost the words in his throat. 

He blinked once. Twice.

The man looked at him with a slight smirk on his face and his head cocked. “Yes? The way it’s put together?”

“I- I’m sorry.” Harry felt his face flush hot. “You’re… you don’t recognise me, do you?”

“No? Should I?” His brow furrowed, then relaxed as he smiled, “Please don’t tell me we’ve slept together. I would hope I’d remember someone as fit as you!”

His light laugh made something in Harry’s chest clench as the memories came flooding back. 

**Eight Years Earlier**

_“Have you heard anything about the guest curator yet?”_

_“Just that it’s a guy. And that he’s young––pretty much fresh out of school.”_

_“Huh… they’re usually such ancient relics. This should be interesting.”_

Harry took a seat at the table as he listened to the whispers of the other interns. He felt a flash of excitement at the idea of the new curator being so young. He still couldn’t believe he’d landed an internship at London’s top modern art gallery––getting to work beside people who’d made art a career was something he never imagined would be possible. Harry had already learned so much during his time at the Tate Modern, but he’d yet to really connect to any of the work they’d shown. Hopefully, with the arrival of a younger curator, this exhibition would be different. 

Looking up at the sound of the conference room door opening, Harry watched as the gallery director escorted a young man to the head of the table. Quickly taking in his oversized, casual clothes and shaggy haircut, Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised at just _how_ young their new curator actually looked. 

“Good morning everyone. As you may have heard, we have someone new with us this summer. I’ve asked him to call in today to introduce himself and share some of the ways we can support him over the next couple of months.” 

“Thank you, Margaret.” His voice was higher than Harry had expected––rough and breathy, with a thick Northern accent. “You’ll be happy to hear that I’ll be the curator you’re stuck with for your final months at the Tate Modern. My name is Louis Tomlinson.”

He flashed a wide smile at the group of interns, deep laugh lines around his eyes proof of his genuine pleasure in being there. As Harry watched, he began to pace in front of the tall windows at the side of the room, giving them a brief bit of background on himself–– 

Born and raised in Doncaster, 

Pretending to write something on his palm, _“Are you laughing at me accent? Yeah, yeah...I’m taking notes”_

Masters in Visual Art from Université Paris-Sorbonne, with a focus on painting and sculpture, 

Smirking, at the response from the room, _“Oooh. I know. Fancy. I speak French, as well. Even fancier!”_

Then, running a hand along his freshly shaven skin, Mr. Tomlinson continued, _“And yes, for those of you wondering, I know I look quite young, but I’m actually 25 and have had my work in some of the top galleries around Europe since my days at the Sorbonne. I hope you lot will be as excited as I am about what I’ve got planned!_

\---

As the weeks passed, Harry began to realise he was in deep trouble. Mr Tomlinson’s project had quickly become his favorite since starting at the museum, which was good since he had to put so many hours in. But Mr Tomlinson, himself, had also become a favourite and Harry was having a very hard time focusing.

In part, Harry’s wide-eyed fascination had to do with the similarities in their upbringing––both having been raised by single mothers in northern working class towns. The fact that Mr Tomlinson had fought tooth and nail to get himself to the Sorbonne and to make something of himself in the art world, despite fine art being the furthest thing from anyone’s mind back home, made Harry feel that he wasn’t wasting his time or pinning his hopes on some pipe dream. 

Harry had never met anyone so unorthodox about rules, nor anyone who constantly challenged the idea of the way things “ _should be_ ”. Mr Tomlinson’s passion and excitement was contagious. 

_“The thing about being creative,_ ” he had said one afternoon. _“Is that it takes courage. It takes courage to step out into the uncertainty, to risk the emotional exposure, to be that vulnerable that you create something really outstanding.”_

He continued to pace around the gallery, excitedly sharing his thoughts. _“You have to be able to connect with your weaknesses, with what your fears are. You have to be willing to expose something of yourself if you want others to connect with your work… and with you. It’s fucking scary, isn’t it?”_ He stopped and looked around at the interns who were hanging on every word. _“But when you risk it all and someone gets it? Like really gets it and it moves them? Changes them? Then you know you’ve really done something worthwhile. That’s what it’s about for me.”_

Every night after work, Harry would jot down things Mr Tomlinson had said, concepts he’d sparked in Harry’s brain, and questions Harry wanted to ask. The only issue was, when Harry wasn’t being inspired, or listening to the discussion the group was having on important gallery duties like the lighting or which pieces should be included in the exhibition, he was watching the way Mr Tomlinson moved his body around the gallery space. Harry was desperately aware of the way he gesticulated with delicately boned hands and occasionally swept his unruly fringe off to the side of his face. He sighed as he noticed how Mr Tomlinson’s muscular thighs looked wrapped tightly in slim trousers. And he nearly cried every time something struck Mr. Tomlinson as particularly funny, because he’d throw his head back and laugh loudly, exposing his pale neck above the confines of his primly buttoned shirt. 

There was absolutely nothing improper about his behaviour, yet Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering about him, _fantasising_ about him. And it was becoming an issue. Every time he came by his work space to talk, Harry would stutter and blush, frantically trying to will his dick to behave. 

At night (or, let’s be honest, any time he had some privacy), Harry’s mind would wander to thoughts of what it would be like to be on his knees for Mr. Tomlinson––what it would be like to utter his name with a mouth stuffed full of his cock. Harry’s own dick was practically chafed with how much time he’d spent wanking since the summer session began. 

It was a problem. 

**Present Day**

Harry felt his face flush at his memories. Out of habit, he quickly catalogued Mr Tomlinson’s casual Adidas tracksuit and white trainers, ruling out anything beyond a quick bit of fun––he clearly wasn’t in a financial position to help Harry. However, he was still impossibly handsome, and obviously was interested. If nothing else, it might be a chance to fulfill a fantasy he hadn't thought of in years. 

Laughing quietly, he began to explain, “N-no. We haven’t slept together, Mr Tomlinson...”

At the mention of his name, his smirk turned into a slight frown and he shifted his body a step away from Harry’s. “Oh, so proper. This crowd isn’t usually so professional. I haven’t had someone call me that in years.” His surprise turned to curiosity, “How do we know each other, then?”

Confused by the response, Harry cocked his head, but continued, “We worked together a long time ago. I was an intern at the Tate Modern.” In the awkward silence that followed, he rushed to hold out a hand, “Harry Styles… sir.” 

His brow furrowed, indicating Mr. Tomlinson was searching his memory which, if Harry was very honest, was a bit insulting. While he was aware that 18-year-old Harry wasn’t exactly the best version of him, he didn’t think he was forgettable. Or was he?

And then the lightbulb went off. “Oh god. The summer I tried to get them to devote a show to queer British art!” Rubbing his hand across his stubbled chin, he chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Jesus. That didn’t go over so well. I was fighting with them constantly.” Louis laughed a little bitterly, as he continued his thoughts. “Well, queer art has always _been_ about revolution. Of course...then they ran with my idea years later and were the talk of the town.” Shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I was so in over my head trying to make a name for myself. What was I thinking, curating museum shows just two years after finishing my Masters?”

Harry grinned and ran a hand through his short curls. “Well, you did a great job at covering it up, sir. It was my favourite exhibit I was involved with.”

“Please, Harry. We don’t have to be so formal. Call me Louis.” His tone turning more serious, he added, “And I’m very sorry about the earlier...um, comment about sleeping together.”

“It’s really OK, Mr- I mean, Louis.” Then with a smirk, he continued, “Besides, I haven’t been jailbait in a decade.”

Louis choked on the drink he’d just raised to his lips. 

Harry laughed as Louis wiped his chin with a cocktail napkin, and said with a grin, “Well, you’ve turned into quite a cheeky bastard, haven’t you?”

Biting his lip, Harry answered softly, “I guess I’m just less nervous around you now.” 

“Nervous? You were nervous around _me_?”

“Uh… Yes? The entire summer I worked with you. Fuck. I was a mess. I had such a massive crush on you.”

“You _what_?” Louis looked completely confused, eyes wide and mouth gaping. 

“Oh come on. You _had_ to have known. I could barely form a sentence around you. I wanked myself raw that summer!”

Louis dragged his hand over his face, flushing, at the confession. “Jesus Harry. You can’t just _say_ things like that. Shit.”

Maybe it was the champagne starting to get to him, or just the memories of the filthy thoughts he’d had back then, but Harry was enjoying how flustered he was making Louis. 

“I’m sorry…” He said slowly, moving a step closer. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Should I not share the fantasies I had about you while you tried to discuss homoerotic subtext in advertising and art...sir?”

To Harry’s glee, he heard Louis’ breath hitch. Then, just as quickly, he regained his composure and smirked, “It seems that you’ve become quite the flirt since I last saw you, as well.” 

Before Harry could respond, a woman’s voice pierced the bubble they’d been in, “Harry, _darling_ ! I thought that was you. How _are_ you?” Edging her way between the two men she kissed both of Harry’s cheeks, her hand squeezing around his left bicep. 

Louis arched an eyebrow at Harry as if to say, “And who might this be?”

“Hello Francesca. So nice to see you, as well.” Maneuvering himself out of her grasp, he gestured towards Louis, asking, “Have you met Louis Tomlinson yet?”

Francesca spared Louis a disinterested glance and a fake smile. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Would you mind, Mr. Tomlinson? I have some people I’d like Harry to meet.”

With a mock bow, Louis answered her, “By all means, m’lady. I’ve taken up enough of Mr. Styles’ evening.”

“But… we…” Harry tried to interject, but Francesca was quite strong for such a petite woman. 

As he was pulled away, he looked over his shoulder and called out, “I’ll find you as soon as I’m done, Louis. I’d like to continue our conversation!”

Louis winked and turned to walk in the other direction. 

\---

Two hours and three weak cocktails later, Harry couldn’t find Louis anywhere. He’d been trapped by Francesca and her art patron crowd wanting to discuss his work, which he normally would have been thrilled about, but all he’d been able to focus on was Louis––it was like his days at the Tate all over again.

“Mr. Styles…” A familiar voice sounded near him. “There you are.”

Harry whipped around to find Louis standing just behind him––feet widely spread, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised in challenge. 

“Louis! Oh my god.” Harry’s face lit up. “I’m so sorry. I got stuck with Francesca and then I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh, I see.” Louis’ eyes scanned the room. “There _are_ a lot of important people here tonight, aren’t there?”

“Lots of wealthy ones, too.” Harry said, with a laugh, as he followed Louis’ view. “I should keep my eyes open for a rich husband.”

The skin around Louis’ eyes tightened almost imperceptibly at the joke. “Well, I’m sure Francesca would be happy to find you someone.” Louis sneered as his gaze landed on her. “That group looked rather _fond_ of you.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Yes. I guess they are… Francesca wanted me to meet some people who were interested in possibly funding a project I’m working on.”

Various emotions flickered across Louis’ face before he offered Harry a small smile. “Ah. And were you successful at locking in those… offers?”

Harry rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and shyly looked at Louis through his lashes. “To be completely honest, I was kind of distracted.” At Louis’ questioning look, Harry smiled and continued, “The whole time I was selling myself to that group, all I could think about was how much I wanted to get back to our conversation.”

Louis’ smile was hidden by the drink he had raised to his mouth, but it was clear from his eyes how he felt. “That was an excellent answer, Mr. Styles.”

Harry grinned, wide and flirtatious. “I’m happy I pleased you… sir.”

In the heavy silence that followed, Louis reached out a hand to smooth down the collar of Harry’s delicate shirt. “Oh, you did. Very much.” Lightly dragging a finger tip along Harry’s collarbone, Louis leaned in to whisper huskily in his ear, “Go on then. Be good and finish your networking. Find me when you’re done.”

How could Louis expect Harry to concentrate on networking when he was half hard in his trousers and all he could think about was finding somewhere to be alone with Louis? But he could be good. Louis wanted him to be. And so he did. He mingled. He chatted. He hoped Louis was watching him be a good boy.

But, forty-five minutes later, he once again couldn't find Louis anywhere. 

Feeling slightly dejected, very horny, and in need of a real drink, Harry was ultimately persuaded to give up his search and join a group headed to a nearby bar. Once there, he stared moodily at the rows of bottles and sparkling glasses lined up in front of him, and berated himself for getting distracted by someone who really couldn’t help him the way he needed. At the same time, Harry kicked himself for not getting Louis’ number at the gallery. Wealthy or not, he really was unfairly good looking, and a little fun now and then couldn’t hurt. 

After turning down drinks from several men, Harry was beginning to realise being at a bar while in this mood served no purpose. As he raised his hand to ask for his tab, he felt someone brush against his shoulder. Preparing to politely decline yet another drink, Harry turned with a sigh.

“Tired of me already, Mr Styles?” Louis stood next to him, smiling. The dim light of the bar carved his already fine features, making them even sharper in the shadows. 

“Louis!” Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. “I looked for you, but...”

“Really? I was there. Waiting for you. I guess you didn’t want to find me that badly.” Louis teased. “You know, Mr Styles...” Louis began, thoughtfully, “I generally consider boys who don’t do as they promise to be rather _naughty_.”

As Louis stepped closer, a mischievous gleam in his eye, Harry drew in a sharp breath. “But perhaps those boys just need a little… guidance.” Louis cocked his head, watching Harry intently. 

With a coy smile, Harry bit into the plush of his lip, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. “Is that so, Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis ran a wet tongue over his pale pink lips, “Yes. In fact, those boys are usually quite stubborn. They keep doing as they wish until they get bent over my lap for a good… hard… spanking.”

Louis narrowed his eyes and grinned as Harry let out a whimper and his face flushed hot. 

Moving closer and gesturing between them, Louis asked quietly, “Is this okay?”

“God… it’s… Yes. It’s OK.” Harry grinned, a warm flush spreading through his body at Louis’ gentle tone. 

Signalling the bartender, Louis ordered himself a drink and turned back to Harry with a mischievous smile, “You know what I find incredibly hot?” He paused, as if it was just a rhetorical question, then ran his eyes obviously over Harry’s body as he continued, “Watching these other men drool over you. Watching them try to dance with you, buy you drinks, chat you up. All of them hoping to be the one to take you home.”

He stopped to take a long sip of his drink, his eyes locked on Harry’s. 

“But they won’t, will they?”

“N- no.” Harry choked out his reply, his dick twitching in his trousers.

“Good boy.” Harry flushed and smiled widely as Louis rewarded him with a benevolent smile.

“Now...” Louis turned to look out at the rest of the room, his elbows resting on the bar behind him. “Why don’t you show me how many men you can get to flirt with you in the next 30 minutes, and I might be done with my drink and ready to leave by then.”

\---

Harry could see Louis watching him closely as a tall, blond man in a tight shirt led him to the dance floor, his hand placed just above the curve of Harry’s arse. It had been fun flirting with a few men at the bar, but doing it because Louis had told him to –– _because Louis wanted_ _to watch other men want Harry_ –– was making him ready to pull out all the stops. And that’s where Craig came in. Well, at least that’s what Harry was calling him in his head. He looked like a Craig––but Harry honestly couldn’t be fussed to care. 

As the music changed from something upbeat, to a song with a sexier groove, he turned his back to Louis, giving him a clear view of the sultry swing of his hips and Craig’s hands pulling Harry closer. He grinned to himself, imagining Louis’ eyes fixed on his arse… his thighs… wondering what Harry would feel like pressed against _him_.

Harry was making himself hard. 

He felt himself get turned around quickly so his back was pressed against Craig's front. Strong hands found the jut of Harry’s hip bones, pulling him flush against the body behind him as the man began to grind his own hardness into the flesh of Harry’s arse. Closing his eyes, Harry let his head drop back onto Craig's shoulder, groaning as he pictured Louis pressed up behind him. He was aware of his cock leaking in his pants as he felt a hand move to hold him tight across his belly. 

And suddenly… he felt nothing. 

“I think that’s quite enough, mate.” Louis’ voice was like gravel as he pulled the other man away from Harry.

“What the fuck, mate? I was dancing with him!” Harry’s dance partner was physically bigger than Louis, but somehow the way Louis carried himself made just raising his voice enough. 

“Well, that’s my boy.” Pausing, Louis slowly scratched his jaw. “And I think you’d better keep your hands to yourself.” 

Crossing his arms, Craig looked at Louis with a smirk, “Are you sure about that? Because he seemed to be having a pretty good time with me just now.”

Calming Harry’s nerves with a light touch to his wrist, Louis turned to him and said, “Alright, darling. You can decide. Would you like to keep dancing with blondie, or would you like to come home with me so I can bend you over my desk and fuck you until you cry?”

Slightly dazed by the interaction, Harry managed to choke out, “ _Fuck_.” Then, turning to the man he’d been dancing with, he smiled apologetically and, indicating over his own shoulder towards the exit door, said, “Sorry, Craig, but...” 

“The fuck? My name’s not Craig!”

His angry response was left behind as a giggling Harry was quickly ushered out the front door by Louis...straight into a downpour. 

The storm that had been threatening since early evening had decided to unleash a torrent of rain that didn’t look like it would stop any time soon. 

Curls already plastered to his face, Harry turned to Louis with a laugh, “Fuck! It’s pissing down!”

Smiling, Louis brushed his dripping fringe out of his eyes. “Nothing to be done about it, love, but my flat is close. You okay to make a run for it?”

Harry took Louis’ offered hand as they ran through puddles and dodged the tidal waves created by the occasional passing car. His carefully chosen outfit was drenched and sticking to his body as he ran––and he found he felt freer than he had in years. Caught up in the bright sound of Louis’ laughter, Harry gasped as he was tugged into an open archway and his back pressed against the cool stone wall, Louis’ hands on either side of his head. 

All at once, Harry was closer to Louis than he’d ever been––close enough that he could see each raindrop caught on the tips of Louis’ long eyelashes. Close enough that he could taste the warmth of Louis’ panting breath. And close enough that he could see how hungrily Louis was watching him.

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest as they stood, shielded from the rain for a moment, staring at each other. Flicking his eyes to Harry’s mouth, Louis watched intently as Harry’s tongue subconsciously slipped out to wet his lips. 

“You...” Louis’ voice was thick, and slow. “Have been making me _insane_ all night.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as he let out a shaky breath. “You have no _idea_ how much I want you.”

Louis moved closer so his whispers kissed the shell of Harry’s ear, “I’ve been dying to touch you, to know what your lips taste like.”

Harry moaned, loud and unabashed, as his head fell back against the wall. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Been wanting me to touch you for a long time, haven’t you?” Louis’ voice was teasing again, as if he was getting off on working Harry up. 

“ _Fuck_. Yesssss.” Harry hissed out. 

“You’d let me, too, wouldn’t you? Just let me get your dick out right here, pull you off?”

Harry gasped as he felt his cock blurt out a bead of precome at the thought. “Louis… please c-can I touch you?”

“Here? In public? _Dirty boy_.” Louis grinned wickedly. “What is it you want? Want to be on your knees in a puddle, with your mouth stuffed full of my cock?”

Harry dropped his head to Louis’ shoulder and moaned. His hands drifting to Louis’ narrow hips, he began to rub his aching cock against the thick thigh Louis had slipped between his legs. 

“Such a needy boy, Harry. Look at you, humping my leg out in the open where anyone could see.” Running a hand through Harry’s drenched curls, Louis grabbed a fistful and pulled his head to the side so he could run his tongue along the vein pulsing in Harry’s neck.

“Shit… Lou- Louis.” Harry’s mind was full of flashing images of old fantasies he’d had of Louis––ones that had starred in his wank bank for years––yet, somehow, none of them came close to being as erotic as listening to Louis talk to him while Harry rubbed off against his leg in the pouring rain. 

“That’s it baby. Show me how much you need it.” Louis pressed his body against Harry’s, grinding his own cock against him and panting. “You’re so fucking fit, Harry. Jesus _fuck_. Wanted you the minute I saw you.”

Harry could feel that familiar heat coiling in his groin. He was going to fucking come in his pants like a teenager. As that thought went through Harry’s head, he felt Louis' teeth sink, hard, into the junction where his neck met his shoulder. The dull pain sent sparks whizzing through Harry’s body as he felt his balls draw up tight and his cock begin to pulse into his pants. 

“Oh… my god. Oh god...” As he sagged against Louis, the bliss of his release making him feel jelly-limbed, all he could hear was the sound of the rain and his own heavy breaths. He shivered in Louis’ arms as he began to come down from the high of his orgasm. 

“Ready to get out of the rain?” Louis stroked a gentle hand against his cheek.

Pulling his body away from the embrace he was held in, Harry smiled drowsily. “Absolutely. I believe you said something about a desk?”

Louis threw his head back and laughed. 

\---

As far as Harry was concerned, however long it took Louis to open his front door, it might as well have been 2 hours. Every cell in his body was vibrating as he pressed himself against Louis’ side, whispering a stream of filth into his ear, “Gonna take your dick so good, Lou. Gonna be whatever you need.” 

“ _Shit. Harry_. Fucking… key.” A pause, and then the click of the lock opening. “Yes!”

Rushing them both through the open door, Louis slammed it shut behind them and pressed Harry against the wall. Breathing heavily, he brought one hand up to cup Harry’s jaw, as he leaned in to kiss just below his ear. 

Moaning, Harry panted, “L-Lou. I need…” 

“What do you need, baby?” Louis’ voice was soft, but it still made Harry’s knees feel weak. 

“I… I don’t know” Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he stammered out an answer. 

“Hmmmm… do you still want to be my good boy?”

“Ngh…” Harry’s answer was barely more than a groan.

“You have to use your words, baby. I need to know if that’s what you want. I can be whatever _you_ need, too.”

“Oh my god…” Harry’s mouth dropped open, his chest arching away from the wall as his head dropped back. “Yes… please. G-good boy…. I can.”

With hooded eyes Louis smiled and leaned in, speaking quietly, “I’m so glad, Harry. I want to take care of you… to see how good you can be for me.” Louis’ breath tickled against his ear as Harry became distantly aware that his cock was getting hard again. 

“Yes… want that. So much.” Then, on an exhale, with a dreamy smile, “...sir.”

Groaning, Louis finally closed the distance and kissed him, sucking Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and nipping with his teeth. Harry moaned, kissing back as he opened his mouth wider and slid his tongue against Louis’. Everything about the kiss was wet and frantic… and much too brief. 

Louis pulled off with a gasp, motioning between them at their clothes, “Need these off.”

Only then did Harry realise that their dripping clothes had created a small river in Louis’ hallway. Biting back a smile, he struggled to pull his shirt over his head, finally dropping it on the floor with a wet slap. As his hands moved to his trousers he looked towards Louis, staring at the muscles of his bare back shifting as he worked his tight jeans down around his muscular thighs.

“Fuck.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, but Louis’ head whipped up, his bright eyes staring into Harry’s.

With a grin, Louis slipped his foot out of his jeans and stood up. The storm-distorted light from outside bled weakly through the large windows of Louis’ living room, giving Harry a teasing glimpse of the curve of his bicep and a hint of tattoos. With his lithe body outlined against the darkness, Harry could see how Louis’ waist dipped in and then flared out into a soft curve at his hips. His heart pounding, he dropped his gaze to the way Louis’ right hand was slowly stroking the length of his thick cock.

Harry’s breath hitched as he reached out his own hand to touch, only to stop himself and look to Louis for guidance. 

Louis huffed out a little laugh, “Such a good boy, aren’t you? You want to touch, don’t you?”

“Yes… _please_?”

“Not yet,” Louis teased, pointing to Harry’s trousers, “You still have too much on, darling.”

Never the most graceful, Harry nearly fell over rushing to pull off his trousers and pants. He’d waited eight goddamn years, why were his wet pants sticking to his legs now?

Panting from the exertion, he stood up, biting his lip as Louis ran an appraising eye over Harry’s body.

“Fucking gorgeous, baby. I knew you would be.” Louis’ voice was breathy and strained, “I can’t wait to touch you.”

Harry whimpered, his hands curling and uncurling into fists at his side, his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs. 

Louis smiled, then turned and walked down a hallway to the left, giving Harry the opportunity to stare, slack jawed, at his perfect arse before stumbling after him. 

\---

Following a dim light coming from the ensuite, he found Louis testing the temperature of the shower spray. As he looked over his shoulder towards Harry, Louis ran his tongue along his lower lip, dragging his eyes slowly up from Harry’s hard cock to his eyes. 

“God damn… how did I get so lucky?”

Harry bit his lip, coyly, and stepped forward, “I’m the one with the embarrassing amount of fantasising, so I think _I’m_ the lucky one here.”

“Oh, yes…” Louis’ face lit up at the memory, “I think you said you were going to tell me about some of those.”

Harry took Louis’ outstretched hand, and stepped through the glass doors of the shower with him. As the steam billowed around them and the water warmed their rain-soaked bodies, he caged Louis in against the white tiled wall. 

“You really want to know every depraved thought I had about you?” His voice was rough as he bent to suck a bruise into Louis’ neck. “How I dreamed about you asking me to stay after the gallery closed so you could fuck me kneeling on a bench in one of the exhibition halls––knowing the security guards were watching us on camera?”

Louis moaned, low and deep, as his eyes fell shut and Harry’ body was pressed against his, “You fucking _filthy_ boy.”

Sliding his hands down Louis’ back, Harry whispered, “You want to know how I had to constantly leave in the middle of work to toss off in the men’s toilets because watching this...” Pausing, he grit his teeth and sunk his fingers into the meaty flesh of Louis’ arse cheeks, “This fucking arse made me so goddamn hard?”

Louis pulled Harry’s body still closer, grinding his cock against Harry’s hip and panting into his mouth.

Harry reached for the shower gel that sat on a ledge and began to lather them both up as his tone switched to something more conversational, “I was a kid though, you never noticed me like that.” His soapy hand slid down to wrap around Louis’ cock, “I wouldn’t have known how to please you back then, anyway.”

Breathing heavily, Louis opened his eyes to watch as Harry’s hand skillfully worked his cock, “You think you know how to please me now, do you?”

“Oh… Mr Tomlinson, I think I do.” Now it was Harry’s turn to smirk, the innocence of his dimples a delicious contrast to the wicked things his hands were doing. 

Moving, so the water rinsed the soap off both their bodies, Harry slowly turned Louis around so his front was now pressed against the wall. Turning his face to watch, Louis’ mouth dropped open as Harry sunk to his knees. 

His hands at Louis’ hips, his face just centimetres from Louis’ arse, Harry’s eyes were glassy as he spoke, “This okay?” 

Blinking once, Louis choked out his answer, “S’okay, baby.” 

Sliding his hands along Louis’ spine and down to his arse, Harry spread Louis’ cheeks to expose his hole, his breath hitching as it clenched in anticipation. 

“God…” He breathed out a moan, “I can’t tell you how many times I imagined this––every possible version of getting my face between your legs.”

“Shit…” Louis gasped out, reaching his hand back and grabbing Harry by the hair, “Why don’t you stop telling me about it, and actually have that mouth do something useful, Styles?”

Chuckling at the outburst, Harry pulled Louis’ hips back slightly and pressed his face in between his cheeks, letting himself revel for a moment in the warmth and soapy clean smell. Then, flicking his tongue out, he licked around the tight muscle, smiling as Louis pushed back against his face. 

Flattening his tongue, Harry licked a broad, wet stripe from Louis’ perineum up the crack of his arse, then slipped it back down, circling his spit-slick hole over and over. With a gasp, Louis used his grip on Harry’s hair to push his face deeper––Harry’s loud moans muffled by the cushion of Louis’ arse and the pounding of the shower spray. The forcefulness of the gesture spurring him on more, Harry slipped a thumb in beside his tongue, teasing it in and out as Louis moaned. 

Somewhere in Harry’s brain the thought came that he could stay like this for hours, face buried in Louis’ arse, jaw aching as he worked the tip of his tongue in then nipped his rim with his teeth, his own cock hard and neglected, focused completely on Louis’ pleasure. 

Harry was so caught up in his dreamy reality that he was taken by surprise when Louis pushed his head away, “Harry… stop,” He panted, “D- don’t want to come yet.”

Grinning down at Harry as he blinked, dopily, on the shower floor, Louis reached out his hands to pull him up and brush his flattened hair out of his face. “You were so good, darling. Made me feel so good.”

Leaning against Louis’ body and pressing kisses into his neck, Harry mumbled, “Wanna keep making you feel good.” 

Running a hand across Harry’s chest, Louis grinned and tweaked a nipple, making Harry’s hips jerk forward, “Baby… don’t you worry. We’ve still got time.”

\----

Blinking up at the ceiling, Harry’s mouth gaped open as he gulped for air. All he could do was moan and thread his fingers through Louis’ damp hair as he kissed his way down Harry’s torso. 

“Such a good boy, letting me touch. Letting me take what I want.” His rough voice washed over Harry as he twisted and shuddered on the bed. 

Louis’ wet tongue circled Harry’s areola, nipping and sucking his nipple as he cupped Harry’s full pecs with both hands, mumbling to himself, “Look at these fucking _tits_. Oh my god… so good.”

Unable to help himself, Harry let out a guttural moan as he arched into Louis’ mouth. 

“Oh… you _like_ that, do you?” Sitting up, Louis bit his lower lip. “Like me talking about your tits, hm? Maybe you’d prefer to be my good _girl_ instead?”

“ _Holy shit_ …” Harry’s body jerked up against where Louis sat in his lap, his dripping cock sliding along Louis’ arse.

Leaning forward to rest on hand by Harry’s head, Louis gently ran his thumb along Harry’s bottom lip. “Your mouth is obscene, kitten… truly a mouth made for sucking dick.”

Harry parted his lips and gave Louis’ thumb a quick tease with the tip of his tongue, then smiled cheekily. “My mouth would very much like to meet your dick.” 

Louis huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “How do you say such dorky things and still look so fucking sexy?”

Giggling, Harry ran his hands up Louis’ thighs, enjoying the sparse hair tickling his palms. “I guess it’s part of my charm?”

“Oh, you’re a charmer alright.” Louis winked and shifted his body so he was now straddling Harry’s chest, his hard cock bobbing just centimetres from Harry’s face. Wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, Louis looked Harry in the eye and whispered, “Would you like an introduction, princess?”

Harry swallowed thickly, then slowly opened his mouth, lolling out his tongue. 

Louis’ grinned wolfishly as he scooted close enough to run the head of his cock along Harry’s outstretched tongue. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as he gurgled out a moan and Louis slipped the rest of his cock into his waiting mouth. 

“Pinch my thigh if it gets to be too much, darling. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Harry hummed, giving him a thumbs up and a quick pinch to show he understood. Apparently satisfied, Louis leaned over him and started feeding his cock into Harry’s mouth slowly, feeling out how much he could take. Harry’s hands slid up from Louis’ thighs to his hips, pulling forward to gently encourage him. 

“You want more, baby? Want me to fuck into your throat?” Louis was panting slightly although Harry wondered how he still sounded so calm. 

Harry moaned with a mouth full of dick and pulled Louis’ hips towards him with a little more force. If that didn’t get his message across, he didn’t know what would. 

“Look at you, just letting me use your mouth to get off.” Starting to slide his cock in faster, gritting his teeth, Louis punctuated each word with a sharp thrust, “Such. A. Good. Girl.”

As Louis panted over him, drops of sweat rolling off his forehead and dripping down onto Harry’s face, he felt a sudden urge to devour Louis, to have all of him––the sweet tang of precome, the saltiness of Louis’ sweat, the sweetness of his tongue. He wanted to touch everywhere, feel everything, consume it all and then give it all back, tenfold. He forced himself to breathe through his nose as he listened to Louis’ voice. 

“Can’t believe how well you’re taking me. Fucking gagging on my cock.” Louis ran his hand through Harry’s sweat-slick hair, brushing it off his forehead. “I’m gonna… can.... can I come on your face, princess?”

Harry hummed an enthusiastic yes as Louis pulled out and began frantically stroking his cock. Smiling dreamily as the warm splatter of Louis’ come hit his tongue and dripped off his cheek, Harry carefully opened his eyes to see Louis staring at him, his heaving chest slick with sweat. He reached a hand out to swipe the come from Harry’s cheek with a grin. 

“So beautiful, baby. So good for me.” Taking a deep breath, Louis shifted down Harry’s body so he was sitting on his haunches between his spread legs. “Gonna take care of you now, kitten.”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his body arching sharply off the bed, as Louis used his come-covered hand to start jacking Harry off. Firm, tight tugs, a twist at the head, and Harry was shooting off, covering Louis’ hand and his own stomach in ribbons of come. 

Louis reached over to the bedside table to grab a few tissues, first cleaning his hand, then Harry’s face and belly, with a soft smile. “Hi…” Louis said, gently. “You doing okay?”

“Fuck… So good. Thank you.” Harry gave a short laugh, looking down at himself. “So much for that shower.”

Louis’ answering smile made Harry’s stomach flutter. He was hit with a flash of a memory of a bucolic, abandoned garden––overgrown and lush––that he’d been able to find a way into. His own secret garden in the midst of the bleakness of his childhood. Whenever he could sneak away, he would crawl through a hole in the fence to sit under a tree in the sunshine, watching the bees buzz lazily nearby, and in that moment, it had felt like nothing ugly could ever touch him.

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Before he could blurt out his embarrassing thoughts, Louis gave him a quick kiss and moved towards the ensuite, turning over his shoulder to smile at Harry. “I’ll be right back. Going to get a wet flannel.”

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He _literally_ couldn’t afford to fall for a just anyone, no matter how fit they were. He needed to focus on finding a benefactor––or a well-connected sugar daddy––someone motivated to help him get his foot in the door so he could get his work sold and get proper representation. And so far, locking that in on his artistic talent alone was _not_ working. 

Louis came back in with a glass of water for Harry and proceeded to gently clean him off. “We should probably have another shower, but I’m absolutely knackered.”

Harry looked over at Louis with a smirk. “Past your bedtime, old man?”

“Oi, you dick!” Louis laughed and swatted Harry’s hip. “I’m not that old. And maybe I just want an excuse to get a cuddle.”

Harry’s eyes darted to the clock. “I really should get going, Lou. I don’t know if I can get a cab in this rain.”

Louis’ face fell as he folded up the flannel and placed it on the table. “Oh. I mean, you don’t _have_ to leave, Harry. I- it’d be okay if you stayed.” He rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow as he looked at his lap. 

“If you’re sure?” Biting his lip, Harry reached a hand out and brushed it against Louis’ knee. “Then yeah, I’d like to stay.”

The rain had lessened slightly, but Harry could still hear it still beating against the windowpane as he drew the duvet up, over his shoulder, and curled in closer to rest his head on Louis’ chest. The rhythmic sound of Louis’ deep breaths settled Harry’s momentary edginess and he dropped off into a deep sleep.

\----------

Thank you so much for reading. A comment and/or kudos would mean the world. You can reblog the fic post [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/618768341893627904/gathered-on-wings-by-brooklynbabylon) You can scroll through the inspiration posts for this fic [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/tagged/gathered-on-wings)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of French in this chapter. The translation is in the notes at the bottom of the page.  
> 

_“Art is the only way to run away without leaving home”_

_\- Twyla Tharp_

Harry woke with his arms curled around a pillow and a ray of light hitting him squarely in the face. The mid-morning sun had snuck in at the perfect angle, thanks to the heavy curtains that hadn’t been pulled completely closed. Realising he was alone, he sat up with a quiet groan and looked around Louis’ bedroom. It had been so dark last night (and he’d been otherwise engaged) that the opulence of Louis’ flat hadn’t registered. 

Wide-eyed, he took in the wall of windows and high ceilings of the large room. A piece of abstract art, looking suspiciously like a [ Rothko,](https://mark-rothko.tumblr.com/post/189912737760/dailyrothko-mark-rothko-untitled-no-4-yellow) hung on the wall across from where he was sitting. Everything about the space screamed wealth, and none of it made sense.

Harry gingerly got out of bed, his toes digging into the thick rug under his bare feet. Walking into the ensuite to wash last night off his body, Harry ran through the events of the evening, mind whirring. Nothing about what he knew of Louis from before, and nothing about him last night, would have made Harry think he had this kind of money. 

Stepping out of the shower, Harry dried off and wrapped the towel around his hips as he walked back into Louis’ bedroom. He blushed at the memory of his soaking wet clothes in a pile by the front door, pulling out the first thing he could find in Louis’s wardrobe and slipping it on. Following the faint sound of music, he found Louis, wearing only a pair of tight, black briefs, making tea in the kitchen. As he took a moment to admire the way Louis’ skin looked, honey-gold and soft in the dappled sunlight, Harry felt butterflies erupt at the thought of how good this sort of every day domesticity could feel. 

“Morning…” Harry smiled softly, wiggling his fingers in greeting as Louis turned his head.

Louis placed two mugs on the counter and smiled, sleepily. “Morning, curly. I was just making you a cuppa.” 

“Sorry I slept so late.” Then, gesturing at the too small joggers he was wearing, feeling the need to explain himself. “My clothes were soaked... I hope you don’t mind.”

Casually pouring boiling water into the mugs, Louis cocked a hip and looked Harry up and down with a smirk. “Why would I mind you walking in here, shirtless and in my joggers? Particularly since you’ve chosen to go commando.”

Biting his lip to contain his smile, Harry felt the blush colouring his cheeks as he looked at his feet. “I don’t know. Sometimes the morning after is a bit… awkward.”

“Well, no need for that. Here, how do you like your tea?”

“Just one sugar, dash of milk. Thanks.” 

As Louis made their tea, Harry took in the huge, open plan flat. Unable to help himself, he turned back to Louis with a raised eyebrow. “Looks like you’ve done very well for yourself since I last saw you.”

Louis’ body tensed as he stirred the tea, but just as quickly, he turned with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, love. The flat belongs to a friend. I- I’m between places since I moved back to London.”

And just like that, Harry felt the butterflies in his belly turn into an anxious twist as his face flushed again. “Oh, I didn’t mean… sorry. That sounded so rude. I was just trying to compliment you. It’s a lovely place.”

Waving his hand as if to brush away Harry’s nerves, Louis headed to the sofa. “Oh, it’s OK, Harry. I get it. Being a starving artist isn’t as romantic as it’s made out to be, is it?”

As Harry sat beside him he frowned, deeply. “No. No it’s not at _all_.” 

Reaching over to smooth the frown line between Harry’s brows gently, Louis’ voice was quiet. “Sounds like that’s something you have some experience with then?”

Too _much_ experience, Harry thought to himself. But how much of that was something he wanted to share? The childhood trauma of never having enough to eat and having all your clothes come from charity shops? Probably not. The fact that trying to make it in the world of fine art has been less about his talent and more about who’s been willing to help him in exchange for… _f_ _avours_ ? _Definitely_ not. The endless struggle to pay for uni and rent until you found a series of rich boyfriends to take care of you? Explaining that situation to his closest friends was already a challenge, let alone to someone he barely knew. 

In the end, Harry took a sip of his tea and made a joke of it. “Yeah. That garret in Paris* was not quite what I’d imagined. Froze my balls off and all I could focus on painting was food I was too skint to buy.”

Louis watched Harry curiously as he huffed out a quiet laugh. “Did you really end up in Paris?”

“I _told_ you that you made a huge impression on me at the Tate.” Harry smirked at Louis and then looked at the cup in his hands. “I went to Paris for a bit. But artistic poverty is still poverty, even in Paris.” 

“And now? I saw what you were wearing last night.” Louis teased. “Not many impoverished artists walking around in Gucci.”

Harry barked out a laugh and set his empty mug down on the table. “No, I suppose not. I had a very wealthy boyfriend for a while. He liked… dressing me up.”

“Hm. How’d _you_ feel about that?”

That was a can of worms Harry wasn’t really ready to get into.The shame of not being able to make it on his own coupled with wanting, so badly, to be pampered and taken care of for once, was a weakness of his that his ex had quickly cottoned on to... and taken advantage of. But this, whatever was happening with Louis right now, was different and Harry really didn’t want to ruin it with his fucked up past. 

“Oh…” Harry started, and then smiled light-heartedly. “Well, I enjoy dressing up. Especially if there’s someone to appreciate it.” Eager to change the subject, Harry turned his body towards Louis with a coy shrug of his shoulder. “I’d dress up for _you_ , if you wanted.” 

Smiling broadly, Louis held out his hand to pull Harry towards him. “Well, I don’t know that I can dress you the way you’re used to, darling.”

Going easily, Harry found himself kneeling over Louis’ lap, looking down into the brightness of his beautiful eyes. _I’d love to paint you, if you’d let me._ Harry flushed at the sappiness of his thoughts as he leaned in and whispered, “I guess it’s a good thing I have plenty to wear already.”

\---- 

Harry left the flat a few hours later with the excuse that he had coursework to get done, and a promise of a proper date soon. Truthfully, he could have stayed for days, but he was both aware that he shouldn’t overstay his welcome, and nervous about how much he wanted to. Having some casual fun with Louis was something Harry could do, but he needed to keep a lid on any thoughts of a serious relationship. The fact was, Louis was struggling to make it just as much as Harry was, and Harry needed to be smart about his future, make it his priority, no matter how good it felt to be around Louis.

Despite all of Harry’s efforts to be logical, his thoughts kept drifting back to earlier that morning. His mind was crowded with the memory of his fingertips drawing patterns along the soft skin of Louis’ back, and how Harry’s whole body shivered as Louis whispered raspily and pulled him closer. Even as he stood in his studio, determined to work, the persistent image of Louis’ tongue following the laurel leaves tattooed along Harry’s v-line was making it impossible for him to concentrate. 

The rest of the day was the same. No matter what he tried to focus on, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Louis. He was exhausted and irritable by the time he crawled into bed, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of Louis’ body curled up behind him. Sighing deeply, Harry drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

\---

Friday night’s rain had cleared the clouds, but the bright skies of Sunday did nothing to warm Harry up as he braced himself against the wind blowing across the Thames. He turned up the collar of his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets, clutching the business card of the gallery director he was on his way to see. 

He knew the Saatchi Gallery was a long shot. But Mr Abbott had seemed intrigued by Harry’s description of his work and had offered to meet with him to discuss further. A little bubble of hope floated in his heart. Maybe, just _maybe,_ this one would be different. 

An hour later, Harry stood back in the cold air, angry and humiliated. The meeting had started well, the director listening to Harry talk about his influences and his vision for the pieces he wanted to exhibit, but it hadn’t lasted long. Mr Abbott had only given his online portfolio a cursory glance before changing the subject to more personal ones about Harry’s ex, Christopher –– who Mr Abbott knew of course –– who had let it be known that Harry might be interested in a more _private_ meeting outside of the gallery. And if the leering smile wasn’t enough to clue Harry in, the hand snaking up his thigh had made Mr. Abbott’s intentions very clear. 

Angrily wiping at the tears on his cheeks, he sat down heavily on a bench outside the gallery. He wasn’t usually so naive. His gut had told him it was too good to be true, but he’d really hoped the initial interest Mr Abbott had shown was genuine. Worse still than Mr Abbott’s disinterest in his work, the idea that Christopher was spreading rumors about Harry among this circle of people––this group that meant the difference between success and failure in the London art scene––was so _degrading_ and completely infuriating. Dating wealthy men had been a means to an end at first––a quick way out of the endless cycle of poverty. But now he felt trapped––men either treated him as a prize to be displayed or a fling to be bought for a favour.

It hadn’t bothered him in the beginning. True, those men hadn’t cared much about his emotional needs being met, but Harry hadn’t even fully realised it at the time. He’d been so needy in other ways, so consumed with not ending up back on council estates _._ Christopher had seemed different. But in the end, he’d dangled his money and connections like a prize that Harry had to perform for. When he’d realised Christopher barely respected him as a person, let alone as an artist, Harry left. But it seemed the man who once said he’d loved him, had set out to block whatever progress Harry tried to make on his own. The memory of Mr. Abbott’s earlier comments made his face flame. _Gold Digger. Slag_. _Gagging for it._

And as the wind picked up, ruffling his hair, Harry suddenly felt so _tired._

Huffing with irritation as his phone pinged with a text, he was pleasantly surprised to see Louis’ name. 

_Louis: I was staring into the fridge, willing something to appear for dinner. But nothing is happening. I must be doing something wrong._

**Harry: Clearly you’ve lost your magical powers. Shame. And here I was, thinking you might be something special.** 😉

_Louis: Oi, lad! Watch your mouth. I’ll have you know I’m very special! My talents just don’t extend to the kitchen, I’m afraid. 😩_

**Harry: Well... I happen to have some kitchen talents. Can I entice you to come by mine instead?**

_Louis: Yes, please. I’d love to._

_Louis: Don’t tell anyone, but my actual magic power is getting fit boys to cook for me._

**Harry: I** **_knew_ ** **you were hiding something! Want to come by around 4? Maybe bring a bottle of red?**

_Louis: Sounds perfect, love. I’ll see you in a few. x_

And just like that, Harry felt his bad mood lifting and his heart rate speed up. Biting his lip to tamp down his grin, he headed for the tube, already planning dinner in his head. 

\----

Realising he had checked himself in the mirror ten times in the last 20 minutes, Harry took in a deep breath, willing himself to relax. It was just Louis. He’d had men in his flat before. He’d even cooked for dates before. Why was he so nervous? It was just a date. A last minute, casual one, at that. Vegetables. Chop the vegetables. Put the Yorkshire pudding mix in the fridge. Peel potatoes. Not nervous. Just multitasking. 

And there was the doorbell. Pushing a few drooping curls back from his forehead, Harry bit his lip and opened the door. How was it possible to feel as if the air had been pushed from your lungs all at once? Louis stood, leaning against the wall, fringe soft and messy, a bottle of wine in his hand

Smiling gently, he took Harry in. “Well, _you_ look gorgeous.”

Reaching out to pull Louis into his flat, Harry beamed at the compliment. “So do you. Even better than I remembered.”

“Oh, good. I thought you might have forgotten me.” 

Louis said it with a laugh, but there was a slight tremor of uncertainty behind the words. All nerves forgotten, Harry smiled and softly said, “Lou… I _barely_ got to know you when we met the first time and couldn’t stop thinking about you for years. How could I _possibly_ forget you after the other night?”

As Louis swallowed harshly, Harry closed the distance between them, putting a hand at Louis’ jaw and pressing their lips together. His mouth was soft and warm, opening languidly to let Harry’s tongue slip inside. As he pressed Louis against the door, Harry ran a hand along his arm until he reached the bottle of wine Louis held loosely. 

Settling it gently on the table by the door, Harry whispered into his mouth, “Leave it there for safe keeping.” 

As if all Louis had needed was an indication of Harry’s interest, he groaned deeply into Harry’s mouth, one hand moving to fist into the curls at the back of his neck, and the other pulling him in closer by the arse. Harry’s answering whine was high and needy as he pressed his pelvis against Louis’, feeling Louis’ rapidly filling cock as they started to grind against each other.

Pulling away from the kiss with a moan, Louis began to suck and bite at Harry’s exposed neck, running his tongue over the bruises he was creating as if to soothe the sting. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…” Louis panted as he nipped at Harry’s earlobe. “Keep thinking about touching you, _tasting_ you…”

“God, yes... please. Me, too. Can’t work. Keep thinking…”

“Tell me, baby…” Louis whispered hotly in Harry’s ear, “What were you thinking? What do you want from me?”

Harry’s head dropped back, his voice sounding strangled when he replied, “Keep… thinking how much I want to you fuck me… want you to just push me down and…” a pause and then, through a gurgled moan, “...make me _take it_.” 

“Fuck... want that so much. You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah... so good. Let you fill me up and use me.” Harry was babbling now, but he didn’t care. He was so hard it hurt. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Louis cursing.

“ _Shit_. What- what about dinner? Is it going to burn?”

Harry whined at the intrusive thought and said, “N- no. Haven’t put it in the oven yet. It’s fine.”

“Thank God. Where’s your bedroom?”

Waving his arm somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. Harry mumbled, “No, too far… sofa.”

He felt Louis’ laughter as he buried his forehead in the crook of Harry’s neck, “OK, love. Don’t want to make you wait.”

Leading Louis to the sofa, Harry giggled and whispered with a grin, “Don’t want to wait… need you now.”

Louis ran a thumb over Harry’s hardened nipple and pinched it through his shirt. “You’ve got me.” Then kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth, Louis sat on the sofa and raised his chin towards him, “Go on then, get your kit off. Let me see you.”

Harry drew in a breath and slowly started peeling off his clothes. Drawing his thin t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor, he reached a hand up to cup one of his pecs. Throwing his head back and closing his eyes, he squeezed his nipple harshly, then gently ran a finger from his other hand down his throat and over his sternum, making himself shiver. 

Smiling, dreamily, he opened his eyes and stepped closer to the sofa until he was standing between Louis’ legs, looking down at him. Harry could feel his cock straining in his pants, blurting out precome as Louis leaned forward to mouth at the head through his trousers. Moaning softly, his eyes fluttering shut, Harry grabbed on to Louis’ shoulders for balance. “Take them off, Lou... please, t- take them off.”

“I’ve got you, don’t worry, baby.” Louis cooed as he slowly unzipped Harry’s trousers and slid them down his thighs. A pause, and then he felt Louis’ hands digging his fingers into the firm flesh of his hips, hard enough to hurt just a little. He grinned as he heard Louis gasp, sharply, “ _Christ_ , Harry. Are you trying to kill me?”

Louis gaped up at him, expression dazed, as Harry shyly asked, “You like them?”

As he thumbed along the delicate lace edging of Harry’s pale blue knickers, Louis nodded and then dropped his voice to an awed whisper. “Baby… did you wear these for me?”

Dropping his chin, Harry blinked slowly and bit his lip. “I did. I wanted to look pretty for you. Wanted… to be your girl again.” 

Louis ran his finger through the large wet spot forming just around the head of Harry’s cock, his precome staining the cotton knickers a darker blue. “Look how wet you get for me, baby. Just like a girl.” Tearing his eyes away from where he’d been teasing Harry’s cockhead, Louis looked up with a wicked grin. “What kind of dirty thoughts have you been thinking, darling? What’s making you so wet?”

“Ngh…” Harry’s voice was rough as he tried to formulate a sentence. “Wa- wanna feel your cock split me open.”

Louis raised an eyebrow as he smirked. “Ooh. My baby girl wants me to fill her pussy, does she? Gonna spread yourself open and let me fuck you?” 

Feeling his knees go weak, Harry gripped Louis’ shoulders harder. “Fuck, Louis… please.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” Guiding Harry to sit in his lap, Louis ran his hands soothingly along his bare back. “Gonna give you what you need, aren’t I? You’re gonna be a good girl and do as I say, right?”

Kissing along Louis’ jaw line, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah… yes. So good. I can do that.”

Grinding up once so Louis’ rigid cock brushed against Harry’s, Louis put his hands on Harry’s face to stop his kissing. “I want you on your hands and knees on the sofa, baby. Can you do that for me?” 

After some awkward maneouvring, which resulted in Harry nearly falling off the sofa, and his attempt at a sultry stare which was broken up by his embarrassed giggling, Harry managed to compose himself. Louis just shook his head through it all, smiling fondly. “Are you ready for me, kitten?”

“Yeah. So ready.” He answered, breathily. 

Louis pulled off his shirt and kneeled on the sofa behind him, gently palming Harry’s bum, and speaking softly under his breath. “Christ. Look at this gorgeous arse.” Harry wiggled his hips, smiling to himself. Louis’ fingers traced along where the soft curve of Harry’s pale bum cheeks peeked out from below the soft fabric of his knickers, teasing the flesh as goosebumps erupted. Louis’ voice was thick as he raised it enough for Harry to hear clearly. “So delicate, darling. So perfect for me.”

He felt Louis’ hand press gently between his shoulder blades, directing him to lower his face into the sofa cushion. “Spread your legs… there you go. Such a good girl for me. Face down, arse up. Just the way I want you.”

Harry gurgled out a long moan as he felt Louis’ finger pressing through the fabric to tease down the crack of his arse and circle his hole, as his other hand reached under him to cup his balls. “Ok baby, you have stuff in the living room? Or do I need to find it in your bedroom?”

Flailing his arm to the side, Harry panted into the couch cushion. “Yes, drawer. End table…”

“Such a slutty girl. Lube in the living room? _Harry_.” Louis teased, shaking his head with a smirk as he reached into the drawer. 

“Ngh… need your fingers, Lou. Your dick…”

“You want it all, don’t you? So anxious to fill up that greedy hole of yours.” And with that, Louis pulled Harry’s knickers down below his bum and spread his cheeks, exposing his clenching hole. 

Slicking up his fingers, Louis circled around his furled entrance, and slowly slid a finger inside. “Don’t worry baby. I’m gonna give you what you want.” 

One finger quickly became two, pumping steadily in and out, rubbing in just the right spot until Harry began to push back against Louis’ hand. “You like that? Found your spot and it feels good doesn’t it? But I didn’t tell you to move, did I?”

Harry groaned and tried to stop, but it felt too good. Just a bit more, just a bit more and he could come. He reached underneath himself to stroke his throbbing cock. Louis withdrew his fingers. “Fuck...” Harry turned his head sharply at the sudden emptiness he felt.

Arching an eyebrow at Harry, Louis’ voice was calm. “Good girls wait to be told what to do, baby. I thought you were going to be good.”

Harry's face burned with embarrassment. He could be good. He really could. It just had felt so nice. Eyes downcast, he answered quietly. “I- I’m sorry. Please let me try again?”

“I don’t know, love. You seemed a lot more concerned with getting off than with listening to me.”

“Please... I- I can wait. I won’t come until you tell me to. I promise.”

Louis was silent, looking as though he was trying to decide if it was worth his time to continue fucking Harry. And while Harry could clearly see the hard line of Louis’ cock in his tight trousers, his heart rate picked up at the thought that Louis might not let Harry have his dick tonight. 

“Please, please? I’m sorry. I can listen. I’ll make it so good for you.” Rubbing his face against the sofa cushions, Harry put his weight on his shoulders and brought his arms back, hands pulling his cheeks apart to expose himself, desperately. “I’ll take your dick so well. ‘M so tight… wanna feel your cock stretch me open, leave me gaping…” 

Louis hummed and circled two fingers around Harry’s hole, dipping the tips in like a tease.

“I can take it… please? You can fuck me hard… use me to get off.” Harry was barely aware of what he was saying, but he hardly cared at this point.

“Baby… I promise you I’ll get us _both_ off.” Louis leaned forward to rut his clothed cock against Harry’s hole while stroking a hand along Harry’s bare arse cheek. “But you’re being very naughty right now. And I think you need to learn a little lesson…”

Harry’s breath hitched at the thought of Louis punishing him and, somehow, it made him impossibly harder. He arched his body deeper, moaning quietly into the cushion. 

“There you go. You know what to do, baby.” Louis continued to rub his hand over Harry’s arse, occasionally squeezing into the meat of it. “I’m just going to give you ten because it’s your first time. You okay to use colours, darling?”

“Yeah, Lou. I’m green. I’m good.” Harry knew he sounded dazed. He felt like his whole body was vibrating––on edge and full of anticipation. 

The first smack of Louis’ hand was an unexpected sting on the fleshiest part of Harry’s arse. It was followed by two more in rapid succession on his other cheek, Harry mumbling the count along with each one. A soft rub, a gentle squeeze... then, suddenly, another stinging slap.

Five, six, seven. He felt like his arse was on fire, his dick so hard, it was throbbing. 

Muffled, as though he was underwater, he could hear Louis’ voice praising him. “So good baby. Taking it so well... just a few more.”

Eight and nine came down hard, one on each side. Tears were leaking from Harry’s eyes from the pleasure-pain of it all. Yet, Louis’ firm grip on his left hip made him feel grounded and safe. Ten came unexpectedly, smacking down right on his hole, making him shout and collapse further into the couch, panting.

Harry could hear the sound of Louis unzipping his fly and the crinkle of the condom wrapper. “...took your punishment so well, darling. Gonna give you what you need now. Gonna fuck you so good. Let you come.”

Harry sighed at the cool feeling of slicked up fingers dipping into his entrance, making sure he was ready, and then the delicious burning feeling of being slowly, steadily filled by Louis’ thick cock.

Harry groaned low and deep, fading to a whisper. “Yessssss… thank you….”

With one foot on the floor, and the other bent up on the couch, Louis began to steadily rock into Harry. “So tight for me baby. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

As he slid a palm along Harry’s sweat-slick spine, Louis pressed down on the back of Harry’s neck, forcing his face deeper into the sofa. Punctuating his words with deep thrusts into Harry’s slick hole, Louis panted through gritted teeth, “Look at you. Just taking it. Letting me… use that pretty. Little. Hole.”

Harry moaned through the pounding he was taking, his stiff cock bouncing with the force of Louis’ hips, brushing against the soft cushions of the sofa, but never getting enough friction to give him any relief. And it was so fucking good. It was exactly what he needed. Feeling used, feeling like he could shut his mind off and get lost in the pleasure, but for a change, he was in control of it––he was _giving_ it to Louis. And instead of feeling powerless, he felt fully _alive_. 

“You close, baby? Gonna let you come first…”

“Yes, please….”

Louis’ hand slid underneath Harry to wrap around his cock, precome and sweat easing the glide as he began to tug him off. Grinding against his prostate, Louis gave a twist of his wrist and Harry practically convulsed as he came, harder than he had in years, collapsing on the couch. Louis followed quickly afterwards, ripping off his condom and jerking himself off, shooting off with a groan, his come dripping slowly down Harry’s arse crack. 

Exhausted, Louis grabbed his shirt from the floor, wiping Harry off before sinking into the space between Harry’s prone body and the back of the sofa. 

“Holy shit.” Harry breathed out, turning on his side to face Louis. 

Louis brought his hand up to smooth Harry’s hair away from his flushed face, and smiled, tiredly. “You were so good, baby. So good for me.”

Harry burrowed into Louis’ chest and giggled. “I think you killed me.”

Laughing, Louis stroked a hand down Harry’s back and sighed, “Not a bad way to die, though, yeah?”

“Yeah….not bad _at all_ . Although…” Harry slowly pushed himself away from Louis and smiled down at his concerned face. “ _Although_ , I’m covered in come and promised you dinner, so… how about we take a quick shower?”

Grinning, Louis followed Harry through his flat. 

\--- 

Watching Louis talk was captivating. Everything about him was expressive––the way he gestured with his hands, the excited rise of his eyebrows, the subtle changes in the tone of his voice. He was at once delicate and fierce, like a pixie and a whirlwind. And all Harry could do was sit and appreciate the fact that he once again had a front row seat to experience it. But this time was even better because _now_ all of Louis’ attention was on Harry.

The graze of his fingertips along Harry’s wrist meant something else this time. The deep blue of his eyes as he watched Harry speak gave him a different thrill than it had before. He knew parts of Louis that he’d only ever dreamed of knowing and it was better than he’d ever let himself imagine. 

“I don’t think you ever said how you scored that gig at the Tate. You were so young. It was really impressive.” Harry said, as he served Louis another helping of roasted potatoes.

Louis rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow and took a sip of wine. “Ah, you’re digging into my deep dark secrets, young Harold.”

Louis' small smile suggested it wasn’t a heavy topic, but Harry was familiar with having experiences you might not want to share. With a smile and a shrug, he decided to tread lightly. “You don’t have to tell me. Honestly. I guess it’s just that I’m older than you were then and I can’t _imagine_ getting that sort of opportunity.’

“Well… I think this business is so often about being in the right place at the right time, and then even with that it can boil down to who you know and who decides to extend a hand.” He paused to stab a few peas, and continued, “I was very lucky at the time. I had a wonderful mentor while I was in Paris who took me under her wing and supported me and my art in so many ways. She believed in me and that opened a lot of doors. Perhaps like Francesca is for you?” 

Harry snorted and looked at his plate. “No, I very much doubt it’s the same. Francesca is more interested in me than my art. She refuses to accept the fact that I don't date women. But I’m so glad you had so much support. It sounds lovely.” 

Reaching across the table, Louis rested his hand on top of Harry’s. “It _was_ lovely. And like I said, I was very lucky. Not everyone’s story is the same. There’s no shame in that.”

Harry looked up to find Louis’ face full of sincerity. With a sigh, he turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Louis’. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be like that. Yes, I know you’re right. Sometimes it’s just frustrating.”

“I know. It hasn’t been all smooth sailing for me, either. Life, in general, isn’t always fair, is it?” 

“No. No it’s not.” Taking a deep breath, Harry continued. “I keep telling myself that the struggle produces better art, that I have more to say because of what I’ve been through. And in some ways I do think that’s true.” He spoke slowly, trying hard to articulate something he rarely had the chance to express. “I guess my hope is that the hardships, the pain… whatever I’ve experienced… my hope is that I can make it _mean_ something more than just a bunch of stuff I survived. You know?”

“I think I do. Yeah.” Louis scratched the stubble on his chin, thoughtfully. And then focused his eyes back on Harry. “I think society, in general, tends to concentrate a lot on ‘positive thinking’ and finding silver linings and all that. Like, there’s no space to express the sadness and private suffering we all have.” Louis paused and sat up straighter. “But art… _art_ can be the remedy to that suffering. Not necessarily turning ugliness into beauty, but a way to turn the horror into expression––into release.”

Leaning back in his chair, Harry grinned. “I’d forgotten how inspiring you could be.”

A faint blush touched Louis’ cheeks as he smiled. “Sorry. I know I get too intense sometimes.”

“No, it’s nothing to apologise for! It’s great. I’ve honestly really needed to talk about this stuff with someone.” 

Leaning his cheek on fist, Louis looked thoughtfully at Harry. “Do you not have people to talk to about art and inspiration? No one to share your thoughts with?”

“No. Not really. I’ve missed it,” Gesturing between the two of them, he continued. “This feeling of shared experience, of people inspiring each other in a way that’s pure and without pretension. People at art school are too competitive to collaborate or brainstorm. Christopher- my ex. His crowd was always too busy looking bored and above it all to ever get excited about anything.” Harry rolled his eyes as he thought about it.

Louis wrinkled his nose at that. “Was he the one who liked dressing you up?”

Unable to hold Louis’ intense eye contact, Harry looked down at his plate, and then toward the kitchen as he answered quietly. “Yeah. It wasn’t like that at first, but…” Shrugging, he ran a hand through his hair and got up to start clearing the table. 

“Harry?” Louis touched a hand to Harry’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t. I promise. I just… I just feel embarrassed talking about it. I don’t want you to think less of me.”

Pulling his chair back from the table, Louis stood and cupped Harry’s cheek. “I would never. But you can tell me about him if and when it feels right for you to do it. OK?” As Harry nodded, Louis reached out to take the dishes from his hands into the kitchen. “Here, let me help. You rinse, I’ll load the dishwasher?”

Harry stared as Louis placed the plates he was carrying into the sink, then quietly asked, “Really? You’re… you want to help me?” 

Looking over his shoulder at Harry, Louis frowned in confusion. “Of _course_ I’m going to help. I mean, I could do it myself because you cooked. But I thought it would be nice to do together? Do you… do you not like people in your kitchen?”

“N- no, it’s not that. It’s just… no one’s ever offered to help me. Not like I was a servant or anything.” Harry winced as the joke fell flat and he continued more quietly, “I guess I just like taking care of people...”

Harry’s voice trailed off at Louis’ incredulous stare. He’d never thought to question the arrangement and now, his face flushed in embarrassment, his eyes flicked around the room, desperate to avoid the pity he assumed was on Louis’ face.

“Love?” Harry finally met Louis’ eyes to find nothing but softness, and an extended hand. “Wanting to take care of someone is a lovely gesture. But I would never _expect_ that of you. I think it’s something two people can share. You know?” Louis squeezed Harry’s hand and continued. “Come, I’d like to take care of _you_ a little, as well. Let me help.”

Standing side by side at the sink, Harry snuck glances at Louis’ delicate hands as they carefully took each dish from him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone helped him just because they thought it was the right thing to do. An unfamiliar feeling began to spark inside of him at the thought of being taken care of with no strings attached. Just as quickly as it came, Harry tamped it down. _Don’t get used to it_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Christopher’s crept into his head. _Why would he want anything to do with you beyond sex? That’s all you really have to offer anyway._

Harry felt his stomach curdle.

\----

The early part of Harry’s week was spent in his on-campus studio trying to make headway on his thesis project––the key word being ‘trying’. Unfortunately, his head was a mess, which was never ideal when it came to being creative. 

Harry had begun the school year still dating Christopher and very much thinking he had life figured out. His tuition was paid for, as was his rent––at least for the next few months––thanks to generous... _donations_ over the years. But now he was without Christopher’s steady financial support, and it scared him. What if he failed? What would happen to him? Harry felt his heart pounding and his throat closing up as his thoughts began to spiral. 

Throwing his paintbrush across the room, Harry sank down to the floor with his head in his hands. He couldn’t concentrate. His nightmares had started up again, so he wasn’t sleeping well. And to add to all of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. 

Louis, who was sexy as fuck. Louis, who was patient and gentle. Louis, who listened to him and took him seriously. 

Louis, who sadly couldn’t help him. Not with this.

Making a decision, Harry pulled himself off the floor and across the room to where he’d hung up his messenger bag. He dug around in the front pocket, his fingers closing around a scrap of paper. Unfolding it he pulled out his phone and made a call. 

He took a deep breath and forced a smile as he heard the voice answer on the other end. “Hello, Olivier. It’s Harry. Styles. How are you?”

\----

Harry wore a suit. There was something about Olivier that made him nervous about showing up dressed the way he usually did—a bit more flamboyant, a bit more feminine. Olivier preferred clean and elegant. A nice suit––Calvin Klein––but with just a fitted vest under the jacket instead of a shirt. Respectable. Subtle. Sexy. Just Olivier’s taste. 

As he walked into the restaurant he reminded himself that this was like a business meeting. He needed to impress Olivier, show him that he was more than just his looks, that Harry was also comfortable in his world, that he was worth keeping.

As he was guided towards the table, Harry was aware that people turned their heads to watch him. _Good_ , he thought, _let him see how valuable I am._

As soon as the thought hit him, Harry felt nauseous. When had he started thinking about himself as a product?

Shaking it off, Harry flashed his flirtiest smile—the one that made his dimples pop—and double kissed Olivier’s cheeks in greeting, as he reached the table. 

“Bonjour mon beau garçon” Olivier’s tan face made his smile look extra white. He was a strikingly good looking man, even at twice Harry’s age. Impeccably dressed, impeccably groomed. 

“Bonjour Olivier, c'est si bon de te voir.” Switching to English, Harry hoped Olivier followed suit. His French was passable, at best. “You look wonderful.”

Olivier smiled and smoothly answered in heavily accented English, “Thank you, that’s very kind. But everyone pales in comparison to you. The whole restaurant watched you walk in.”

Harry smiled coyly, “Well, I didn’t notice. I couldn’t take my eyes off of _you_.”

As Harry had hoped, Olivier grinned and reached out to hold Harry’s hand across the table. 

The rest of the date went exactly as Harry expected. The food and wine were both delicious. Olivier talked about his travels and business deals. He complimented Harry often. At the end of the evening he found himself being driven home in Olivier‘s Jaguar, his hand possessively on Harry’s thigh. 

But throughout the entire evening Harry felt as if he was outside of his own body, watching himself. There he was, on a date with a man who, just a few weeks ago, would have been exactly what he was looking for. But now, when Olivier walked him to his door and leaned in to kiss him goodnight, Harry wanted to scream. 

Once inside the darkness of his own flat, Harry leaned against the door, his breathing erratic. What was he doing? Why was he freaking out about this? Olivier had been interested in him for ages. He was everything Harry needed right now. 

Pushing aside the doubts that insisted on creeping in, Harry headed towards his bedroom. He needed sleep. 

\----

_Harry was driving. Or being driven. He was going somewhere, that was clear. Maybe clear was the wrong choice of words. Nothing was actually clear. He was moving through space, being taken somewhere. The surroundings were grey and murky, although at times he could see glimpses of trees or people. He could tell he was, physically, comfortable. The seat he was on seemed to be some sort of plush velvet. Harry brushed his hand over the nap, as one does with velvet sometimes, just to see the colour change._

_His heart skipped a beat watching his fingers sink into the seat as it turned into some sort of thick ooze. His body followed close behind. Harry felt himself become engulfed, squeezed uncomfortably tight. He was being encased, suspended and perfectly preserved, as if in resin. He was alive, but he was stuck. Through the deep red hue of this tomb, he could see people milling around, watching him. Were they taking notes? Evaluating him?_

_He tried to claw himself out, to scream for help. But the more he struggled, the more trapped he felt. Exhausted, he hung limp, caught like a fly in amber... and then he began to cry._

Gasping for breath, Harry shot up from his bed, his sheets soaked with sweat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Darting his eyes around, he slowly realised he was in his own room. It wasn’t real –– just more fucking nightmares. 

The sky outside his window was a hazy predawn purple; the kind of sky that usually means a few more hours of sleep. But Harry was awake and it was pointless to try and drift off again. Dragging himself from bed, he threw on something he could paint in, before making a quick cuppa and some toast. Leaving his flat––and bad dreams––behind, he headed for the studio. 

With his thoughts swirling, Harry attacked the canvas with wide swaths of colour. Deep, rich shades blending into softer tones. Blacks and greys melting into snowy white. He’d been stuck on this project for weeks, but something seemed to have dislodged itself. As he worked, he thought about what Louis had said the other night, about using art as a way to express the ugliness inside of him, a way to find a release for it. Closing his eyes, Harry thought back to the images and feelings that had been coming up in his dreams––the panic and sense of claustrophobia, the loss of control––how could he put all of that into his paintings? 

He worked, feverishly, canvas after canvas. Different versions of the emotions as they ebbed and flowed. He had no idea where he was going with it, but he had to get it out, had to put all of the emotion somewhere. It was late afternoon when he finally took a break. Pale and exhausted he sat on the floor and looked at what he’d created. He’d painted more in the last few hours than he had in months. 

Reaching into the pocket of his coveralls, he pulled out his phone.

**Harry: I’ve been painting all day.**

_Louis: This is a good thing._

**Harry: I’ve been blocked for months and today I started work on seven pieces.**

**Harry: And I don’t hate any of them.**

_Louis: This is also a good thing. What brought on the shift?_

Harry paused. He hadn’t really thought this through. His eyes flicked to his paintings. Release. Have courage. 

**Harry: I had a nightmare last night. Actually I’ve been having them for a while. But last night was really bad.**

**Harry: I was thinking about what you said about using art to find release.**

**Harry: I think maybe** **_you_ ** **were the shift?**

There was a long pause where Harry could see the three dots indicating Louis was typing. Then they disappeared and came back. Just as Harry was about to send a follow up saying he was just kidding about that last bit, his phone pinged. 

_Louis: Where are you?_

**Harry: My studio. Why?**

_Louis: Can I come see you?_

**Harry: Here? At my studio? I’m covered in paint.**

_Louis: Harry. I don’t care what you look like. I just want to see you._

_Louis: And your paintings._

_Louis: Please?_

Harry just stared at his phone. Not a single one of his boyfriends had ever really been interested in his work. None of them had even set foot in his studio. He looked around the space, wide eyed, and maybe just a tiny bit scared. 

**Harry: OK.**

\----

Harry had survived his work being critiqued for almost a decade now. But he didn’t think he’d ever wanted someone’s approval quite as much as he did Louis’. They’d kissed hello at the door. A quick once over had Harry’s patchwork denim cap and paint splattered coveralls deemed “quirky” with a smirk and a pinch to his bum. Louis moved with graceful purpose through the studio, stopping to look with interest at some older work Harry had stacked against a wall. He took his time and seemed to have a question about everything he saw. 

The newest paintings were facing the windows, where the best light was. As Louis stepped around to face the large canvases, Harry bit his lip, his heart pounding. 

“Most of them aren’t finished yet…” He mumbled, unable to stop himself, and then pointed towards the end of the row. “That grey one is probably the closest to what I want them to look like when I’m done.”

Hands on his hips, the sleeves of his oversized hoodie so long they covered his knuckles, Louis took in Harry’s work in silence for what felt like 20 minutes. Truthfully, it was probably closer to five, but Harry was so nervous that he just stood to the side, wringing his hands.

There was so much of himself in this room. As naked as he’d been with Louis, he had never felt so completely flayed open as he did right now. It was like everything that made up who Harry was, was splashed across these two metre tall paintings––his insecurities, his fears, his desires––everything on display, to be dissected and picked over, as if he was a carcass at the side of the road.

He hadn’t let himself feel this vulnerable in a very long time. 

At last, Louis turned to face him, his face slack, eyes wide. “Harry...” His voice was raw as he spoke. “Do you even have any idea how _good_ these are?”

“W- what?” Harry was sure he’d heard wrong. He knew he had talent, but no one had ever seemed so visibly moved by anything he’d done. 

“Christ, Harry. These are unbelievable.” Louis had turned around again to take in Harry’s work. “There’s so much emotion, even in the unfinished ones. So much turmoil and struggle and… _yearning_.”

To his mortification, Harry let out a sudden sob and buried his face in his hands. He was so exhausted on so many levels, and so overcome by the praise that he simply didn’t know how to hold it together. 

Before he knew it, Louis had his arms around him, guiding him to the ledge of the window so they could sit. With one arm still wrapped around Harry, he shushed him gently. “Darling, it’s OK. I know. You poured so much into your painting today.” 

Moving his hand to rub soft circles into Harry’s back, he gestured with his other hand towards the bottom of the paintings where the darkest, most confused images were. “It’s as if all of _that_ was stuck inside you, weighing you down, blocking you from…” His hand fluttered to the upper edge of the canvases where the colours were softer and the shapes were diffused with light. “Whatever is ahead, whatever it is that’s waiting for you, calling for you.”

Harry let out a shuddering breath and turned his tear-stained face towards Louis. “I- It’s been a really long time since I felt that seen and understood. Thank you.”

Louis’ face softened as he smiled. “Thank _you_ for showing me your art. I know how scary that can be. You’re incredibly talented… I’m really proud of you.”

Harry nuzzled into Louis' side and giggled softly. “You might need to forgo the dirty talk next time and just keep whispering _that_ stuff in my ear.”

Laughing, Louis wrapped his arm around Harry again, and pulled him in closer. “I’d be more than happy to shower you with praise. Even when we’re not naked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translation:
> 
> “Bonjour mon beau garçon” / "Hello, my beautiful boy."
> 
> “Bonjour Olivier, c'est si bon de te voir.” / "Hello Olivier, it's so nice to see you."
> 
> ________________
> 
> *Harry makes a comment about being a starving artist in a garret in Paris in this chapter. This was a really common phrase in my house, growing up. But my betas told me I was an art nerd and no one else would know what I was talking about. So just in case, a garret is an attic apartment, generally the cheapest room rented out in a house and there's a romantic association of artists flocking to Paris, being poor and living in a garret, but creating beautiful art (because: Paris and INSPIRATION!). In reality, most of this happened in the late 1800s/early 1900s and these people were extremely poor and probably died of consumption. But that's neither here, nor there. LOL!
> 
> ________________
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. Your enthusiasm and encouragement makes all the difference! I hope you liked this one as well. If you did, please consider reblogging the fic post [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/618768341893627904/gathered-on-wings-by-brooklynbabylon). If you'd like to scroll through my inspiration posts for this fic, you can do that [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/tagged/gathered-on-wings). Kudos and/comments would mean the world! x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of French in this chapter. The translation is in the notes at the bottom of the page.

_“I found I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way –– things I had no words for”_

_\- Georgia O’Keeffe_

If Harry was really honest with himself, he _missed_ Louis. He missed the way he felt when he was around him. Harry had let Olivier take him out again, this time to the theatre. And, while it was a pleasant evening, he’d felt more than a twinge of guilt about it, but ended up rationalising it by telling himself that things with Louis were casual. After all, they hadn’t put any kind of definition on what they were to each other. 

He was also aware that he was lying to himself. Deep down, Harry knew he was afraid to let go of what felt like a safety net in Olivier. He was handsome, and seemed kind. And he was attracted to Harry, that was obvious. Most importantly, Olivier had the level of wealth that meant he moved in the circles Harry needed to be in. Dating him was a solid strategic decision. 

But hadn’t Louis _also_ made him feel safe? And more than that, hadn’t he felt _known,_ _respected_ with Louis? Harry had been completely vulnerable around him, and Louis had accepted it without using it against him. When Louis had comforted him that evening at the studio, Harry had felt more taken care of than he’d ever felt with Christopher. 

Maybe _emotional_ safety was something Harry had denied himself for too long. 

He used to be so much better about listening to his instincts, but over the years he’d become so worn down that it seemed he constantly second-guessed everything. He was so sick and tired of being afraid and unsure. _What’s that Adele lyric?_ He thought to himself, _I want to live, not just survive._ Sue him, he was feeling just a bit melodramatic. But really, he’d been fighting too hard and for so long to have hardly moved forward at all. 

Swinging his legs out of bed and grabbing his phone, Harry mumbled to himself, “Fuck this. I’m doing the same shit over and over. No bloody wonder I’m not moving forward.” 

A few texts later, Harry had arranged to spend the morning walking through the Tate Modern with Louis. As he pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft, striped t-shirt, he thought about how long it’d been since he last did something like this. All of it––from properly asking Louis for a date instead of waiting to be asked, to spending the day with someone who was as excited about art as Harry was, to even just wearing jeans. He smiled to himself as he pulled a beanie over his curls and practically skipped out the door. 

Less than an hour later, he was walking, hand in hand, with the prettiest man he’d ever seen. Louis was always beautiful, but in the bright, morning light he was breathtaking. Harry knew he was supposed to be taking in the art, but he couldn’t help stealing glances as Louis walked next to him. 

By the tenth time he did it, Louis turned to him with a smirk, and a quiet laugh, “You know, I really don’t know how I missed your crush the first time. You’re the _least_ subtle person I’ve ever seen.”

Harry smiled at his feet as his cheeks turned pink. “I can’t help it. You’re a lot to take in.” 

“You’re one to talk.” Louis lowered his voice so only Harry could hear. “It’s taking all my strength not to pull you into some dark gallery and snog the hell out of you.”

Harry felt his cock twitch. 

With a wicked grin on his face, he stepped closer. “I mean… I wouldn’t say no.”

Louis reached a hand up to cup Harry’s jaw, his thumb pressing against the plush of his lower lip. Harry’s smile widened as he opened his mouth slowly and ran his tongue over the pad, sucking it into his mouth. 

Louis hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re going to get us in a lot of trouble, young man.”

Letting Louis’ thumb drop out of his mouth, Harry turned so his back was to most of the people in the gallery, and adjusted himself as subtly as he could. “ _Fuck_.”

“You really are filthy, aren’t you?” Louis beamed at him. “You _like_ the thought of being watched. Getting caught…”

Harry’s head dropped to Louis’ shoulder as he shuddered out a little whine.

With a kiss to his temple, Louis whispered in his ear. “Be a good boy. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” Then he gently nudged Harry to keep moving. “Come this way, love. I want to see the [ Xiuzhen ](https://www.tate.org.uk/visit/tate-modern/display/media-networks/yin-xiuzhen) installation they have on display.” 

Letting out a big breath, Harry ran a hand through his hair and smiled. He could be a good boy. He liked being good for Louis. 

As they waited for the lift to take them to the gallery Louis wanted to go to, he pulled Harry against him so his hips were flush against Harry’s arse. Louis’ breath tickled as he whispered in his ear, “Remember the night we met… when we were at the bar?”

Harry hummed his response, subtly shifting his bum so it rubbed against Louis’ crotch.

“Remember when you were dancing with that _twat_? Making me watch as you let him grind against you?” Louis pushed against him, letting Harry feel that he was half hard. Just then, the lift signalled its arrival and they moved inside, resettling in the same back to front position, in the corner at the rear of the lift. As the rest of the large group that had been waiting shuffled inside, Harry was pushed back against Louis even more tightly. Looking at the people in front of him, Harry realised everyone was sandwiched in so closely that no one was able to see much past chest level.

He pushed his arse back against Louis again, smirking to himself as he felt Louis’ hands tighten against his hips. As the lift finally closed its doors and began to move, Louis’ hand that was closest to the wall slowly moved around to Harry’s front, landing right over where his dick was beginning to harden. He began to stroke Harry through the denim as he subtly ground his own stiffening cock against Harry’s arse. 

Harry’s breath hitched as the lift stopped and people moved forward, no one giving the two men in the corner a glance. As more people got on and the closeness of the group was renewed, Louis moved his hand up under Harry’s t-shirt. Dipping his fingers just under the waistband of his jeans, Louis lightly scratched his fingers through the sparse hair below Harry’s belly button, pressing his cock against Harry at the same time. He hoped his whine was masked by the sound of the elevator signalling it had reached their floor.

As he and Louis made their way out into the gallery, Harry desperately tried to adjust himself so he was less obviously hard in a public space. As much as he enjoyed a bit of exhibitionism, he didn’t necessarily want to make a scene. 

\----

Louis continued to tease Harry just enough that he couldn’t get his dick to calm down. He could barely concentrate anymore––all he could focus on was getting Louis alone. Harry was just starting to contemplate how successful begging might be when Louis turned to him and pointed down the hallway to the side of the exhibition space. 

“My mate, Zayn, still works here. His office is just down there. Mind if we stop in to say a quick hello?”

Harry wanted to weep, but he wanted to be a good boy even more, so he nodded with a quick smile and followed behind Louis. His knock on the office door was greeted by silence, making Louis frown. A turn of the knob showed it wasn’t locked, so Louis stepped inside, pulling Harry behind him.

As he took in the dimly lit, cluttered space filled with bolts of fabric, candles, and other decorations, Harry heard the door click shut. Spinning around, he saw Louis leaning against it with a wide grin. 

Nodding his chin towards the clutter, Louis explained, “He’s the head of the events department here. I guess he’s out at the moment.” Taking a step closer to Harry, Louis slowly ran his tongue over the edge of his upper teeth, giving him the look of a fox stalking its prey. “We could wait for him… he’ll probably be back soon.”

Harry took a step back and bumped into what was likely Zayn’s desk––papers stacked in organised piles, notes with neat block letter handwriting stuck on various folders, markers arranged in colour groups––all very orderly. Harry’s hands shook a little as he moved a mug back to where his bum had pushed it out of place. 

“You look a little nervous, kitten. Can I do anything for you?” Louis’ smile was soft, even as his eyes twinkled mischievously. 

Biting his lip, Harry giggled. “Won’t your friend be back soon?”

Raising his eyebrows, Louis looked thoughtful. “He might…” And his smirk returned. “Can you imagine if he walked in on us? Walked in on you bent naked over his desk, drooling on his plans for next month’s gala?”

“Fuck…”

Louis stepped into his space as Harry pressed back against the desk, and whispered, “Well, I don’t know if we can do _that_ , darling. But we can at _least_ have some fun.” 

Harry’s eyes drifted shut as Louis’ lips attached to his neck. Licking and sucking, sharp teeth nipping at his skin. Harry wanted Louis to mark him everywhere, claim him so no one had any doubt that he was Louis’.

At the thought, Harry felt his cock growing harder and let out a low moan. The sound of it reverberating in the small space. 

“Mr Styles, I asked you to stay at the gallery after closing to help me with a certain project.” Louis’ hands were rucking up Harry’s t-shirt, pushing it towards his armpits, as he spoke. “You’re being a little loud though. I’m not sure I can get my work done with you making so much noise.”

Harry choked on his answer as Louis’ bent his head to bite at his nipple, rolling the tight bud between his teeth. 

“L- Louis… Christ.” Harry threaded his fingers through Louis’ soft hair and scratched, gently against his scalp as he panted. 

Pulling off Harry’s t-shirt, Louis moved on to his jeans and continued to kiss and lick at Harry’s torso. “Of all the interns assigned to me, I thought you’d be the one who could follow the rules. But you seem so easily distracted.”

Harry’s stomach flipped as he realised what Louis was doing. Breath catching in his throat as Louis succeeded in pushing Harry’s jeans and pants down to his ankles, he stared, wide eyed as he spoke. “I- I’m sorry Mr Tomlinson. I can do better. I want to help with whatever you need.” 

Licking his lips, Louis reached a hand out to grasp Harry’s hard cock as it hung, thick, between his legs. Grinning wolfishly, he brought his eyes up to meet Harry’s as he stroked, slowly. “I can see you’re a very good boy, Mr Styles. I’m going to need you to be quiet while I make a few calls.”

Louis sat at the desk, turning the chair to the side and slouching slightly so his legs spread widely. Picking up the desk phone and running his eyes over Harry’s naked body, he gestured with his hand at the floor by his feet, making it clear what he wanted. 

Harry shuffled forward and dropped to his knees, his lip caught between his teeth, his cock throbbing. Tentatively he reached for Louis’ trousers, catching his eyes to make sure this was OK. Louis nodded distractedly, as he began to make a call. 

Unzipping his fly, Harry reached in to pull Louis’ cock out of his pants. Tentatively he held it by the base and swirled his tongue over the head, whimpering at the sweet taste of precome. Flushing with embarrassment as Louis tsked at the noise, disapprovingly, he proceeded to lower himself onto Louis’ prick, inch by inch, until his nose was pressed to his neatly trimmed pubic hair. Tightening his lips and letting Louis’ cock slide out of his mouth as he pulled back, Harry looked to Louis’ face to make sure this was what he wanted. 

Distractedly, Louis reached out to pet Harry’s curls as he continued with his call. He sounded completely unaffected by Harry’s ministrations, which only made Harry redouble his efforts. As he sat on his haunches, mouth stuffed full of cock, drool dripping over his fist, he heard Louis talking about him, “I have this new intern… yeah. He works hard, but…” Louis’ eyes darted to the mess Harry was making. “He can be quite sloppy at times. Gets the job done though.”

Harry’s cock strained away from his body, rock hard and dripping precome. He wanted to touch, but Louis hadn’t told him he could. Gurgling on the spit filling his mouth, he gagged as Louis pushed his cock further into his throat, “You should see him though, mate. Fucking gorgeous. Mouth _made_ to suck cock.” 

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

Finishing his call, Louis hung up and reached a hand into Harry’s curls to roughly pull him off his cock, Harry's tongue lolling out as he tried to continue to suck Louis off. “That’s enough baby. Don’t want to come yet. Can you stand up for me?”

“Yeah… yes… I can.” Harry was wobbly, but made it to his feet. “What do you need, Mr Tomlinson?”

“You’re such a good boy, so obedient.” Louis grinned, patting the edge of the desk. “I need you right here, bent over, bum out.”

Harry scrambled to get into position, face resting on his crossed arms, legs spread as he lay across the desktop. He could hear Louis opening and closing drawers, and then a triumphant, “Knew it!”

Hearing the familiar sound of a cap being opened, Harry turned his head to see Louis with a green tube. Waving it in the air, Louis chuckled. “Zayn’s a princess about dry skin. He’s always got some sort of aloe vera gel on him.”

With that, Louis stepped out of his trousers and pants and poured a healthy amount of gel into his palm. Slipping a hand between Harry’s legs, Louis smoothed it thickly along Harry’s inner thighs and up along his perineum and balls, cupping them gently as he rolled them in his hand. Harry groaned at the touch, wanting Louis’ hands everywhere. 

“Bring your legs together baby. I’m gonna fuck those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

Doing as he was told, Harry crossed his legs at the ankles and squeezed them together as tightly as he could. He could hear Louis slicking up his cock with another dollop of the gel as Harry lay, panting heavily, on the desk. Louis’ thick cock slid between his thighs as he simultaneously pushed two slicked up fingers into Harry’s hole, pumping them in and out in time to his thrusts. 

“Oh… my god. Fuck… so good…” Harry’s cheek was pressed to a stack of papers as the words were punched out of him. 

Louis’ voice was rough, raspier than normal, as he spoke over Harry’s grunts. “So good for me, aren’t you? Such a good boy. Letting me work you up and use you.” His clean hand slapped Harry’s arse cheek, then grabbed the flesh and squeezed, hard. “This what you wanted when you worked for me Harry? This what you dreamed about?”

“Oh my god. Fuck. Yessss…” 

“Hmmm. And what if Zayn were to come back now? What if he saw you like this? What would you do?” Louis leaned forward and nipped at Harry’s ear, whispering hotly, “Tell me, Mr Styles. What would you do?”

Harry felt tears in his eyes as he gurgled out a moan. “W- whatever you want, Mr Tomlinson. I’d do what you wanted me to do.” Harry’s poor cock still hadn’t had any relief, other than the teasing feel of the head of Louis’ cock rubbing against his balls as he thrust between the cushion of Harry’s thighs. But he trusted Louis to take care of him, and that made it possible to just be good and give himself over to Louis. 

“Maybe I should call him. Tell him to come back now, see what you look like. See what kind of slut I’ve got for an intern.” Louis picked up the phone receiver and dialled as Harry moaned loudly. He heard someone pick up on the other end of the line and Louis pant into the phone, “Hey… it’s Lou.” Louis continued to fuck into Harry, breathing heavily through his nose. “No...I’m fine. What would you say if I told you I was fucking my intern over your desk at the Tate?”

Harry gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, coming hard all over the desk, his stomach, and probably Zayn’s work. He panted as Louis slammed the phone down and rolled Harry over, just as he came, mixing his own load over Harry’s belly and still hard cock. 

“Oh my god...” Louis panted as he helped Harry scoot back to sit on the desk more comfortably. They stood, Louis between Harry’s legs, foreheads pressed against each other, as their heartbeats slowed down. 

Giggling, Harry looked down and whispered, “I’m getting a wet bum print on Zayn’s desk.”

\----

Harry lay on the sofa with his back against Louis’ firm chest. The comforting touch of his fingers carding through Harry’s hair, plus the bottle of wine they were sharing, had him feeling relaxed and peaceful and he smiled as he tilted his head back to look at Louis. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a good day. Thank you.”

Louis kissed Harry’s cheek, gently. “Me, too. I’m glad you texted me this morning.”

Turning his face away again, Harry quietly said, “I don’t usually do things like that.”

“What, have sex in someone’s office?”

Slapping Louis’ thigh, Harry laughed. “Well, that, too. But I meant I’m not usually the one doing the asking.”

“Ah, you’re used to having the boys falling over themselves to ask _you_ , huh?”

Louis’ smile, and the gentle pinch to Harry’s hip, let him know it was a joke, but Harry still wanted to explain. “No, it’s not that. I just- I realised this morning that…” Harry paused, trying to figure out the best way to explain his epiphany. “I feel a bit like there’s a past Harry that I can see when I close my eyes, and when I look at him, or think about various memories, it’s almost like I’m watching a movie with someone else _playing_ me. Like, it’s not the me that exists now.” Turning to face Louis again, Harry tried not to look away though he was embarrassed. “And the me that exists now doesn’t want the same life that other Harry always thought he wanted. So… I realised I need to do things differently if I want different results.”

Harry frowned slightly, looking at his hands. “It makes sense in my head, anyway.”

Louis shifted so that the two of them could face each other more easily. “Hey… it makes sense to me. I get it. It’s… a bit like painting isn’t it?” Louis pushed his fringe out of his eyes before continuing. “That is, sometimes you have a vision in your mind of what you want to create, and you can picture it all, and you know how to get there. In _theory_.” He leaned forward and poured another glass of wine for each of them. 

“But as you start to paint, it really isn’t working. It’s not necessarily _bad,_ but it’s not as good as you’d imagined. And the more you try to keep pushing it, the less you like it.” Harry blinked slowly as Louis spoke, his cheeks heating up. “So sometimes you need to shake things up. Sit in a different space, change the medium you’re working with, let go of your preconceived ideas and shift your perspective.” 

“Yes… exactly. How- how do you _do_ that?”

Laughing, Louis took a sip of wine. “Do what? Get too excited about art metaphors?”

“Louis, _no_.” Harry put his hand over Louis’ and frowned; it wasn’t the first time Louis had said something like that. “I meant, how do you just… understand what I mean, even when I’m confused about what I’m saying?”

Louis smiled shyly as he flicked his fringe away from his eyes. “I don’t know, love. Maybe it’s just that I’m older and have been where you are. I mean, not exactly, but that feeling of needing to make a drastic change, and a new perspective, is something I’m really familiar with.”

Harry reached for his glass, then snuggled back in, bringing one of Louis’ hands to rest over his flat stomach. “Can I ask about that? I’d love to hear more about everything you’ve done in the years since I last saw you.”

Louis stretched out and sighed as Harry’s fingers tangled with his own. “Yeah, course you can. I stayed in London a bit after that summer, but mostly I was back in Paris––painting, showing my work––that sort of thing. Paris was always a second home. I had a nice following there, it was an inspirational place.” He paused, clearing his throat as he looked around the room. “I had a boyfriend there for a long time…”

As Louis’ voice trailed off, Harry squeezed his hand and caught his eye. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Lou.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just trying to figure out how to make it make sense. It… wasn’t the easiest relationship.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “Maxime wasn’t an artist, he worked in PR for a French fashion house. Over time I realised that he resented my passion for it. I think he was jealous––he’d make remarks about ‘my mistress’ and roll his eyes when I’d be excited about something I was working on.”

Quietly, Harry asked, “Is that why you apologise for being ‘too intense’ sometimes?”

Louis flicked his eyes away with a slight frown. “I didn’t even realise I was still doing that. Yeah. He really got in my head at the time.” With a sigh, Louis continued. “I became really blocked, creatively. I second-guessed everything. I actually gave up painting altogether”

At Harry’s shocked expression, Louis smiled and stroked a thumb across his cheekbone. “It was for the best in the end. I went back to doing sculpture, actually. Just as a way to take my mind off of things at first. But…” He stopped and, with a pointed look at Harry, raised his glass as if to make a toast. “ _Switching my perspective_ meant I started to feel alive again.”

Harry smiled broadly. “I’m so glad for you. It must have been such a relief to be able to create again.”

“Yeah, absolutely. Also a relief to come home to Maxime one day and tell him I’d sold a few pieces of my ‘mundane attempts to be provocative’ for enough money to afford to leave him and move to New York.” Louis laughed at the memory and finished the last of the wine. 

Harry grinned at Louis’ description. “That’s a pretty epic way to break up with someone. And New York? How did that go?”

For the first time Louis seemed hesitant to talk about his past. Shifting slightly on the couch and brushing some imaginary lint from his shirt, he paused before answering. “New York was… complicated. It was both the best I could have hoped for, and the saddest I’d been in a very long time. My work flourished, but my relationships didn’t fare so well.” He chanced a look at Harry, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “I got lost for a bit in the headiness of New York. It had always been a dream of mine to be able to show my work there. But there were a lot of people who were only interested in me for money and connections and when I didn’t have that to give…” Louis shrugged and looked away again. 

Harry’s stomach sank at Louis’ words. Remembering back to the comment he’d made about the flat, and Louis’ apologetic response, and later the remark about Harry’s expensive clothes. Sure, he’d made it sound like a joke, but maybe he thought that was all Harry was interested in, as well. And the thing was, if Louis had thought that even a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been entirely wrong. He felt the shame begin to creep in. 

“I’m so sorry. That sounds…” Harry bit his lip, unsure how to sum it up. “That sounds really disappointing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, love. I survived.” Louis smiled, winking as he cupped Harry’s jaw. “And it brought me back to London.”

Harry leaned into him to place a tender kiss against Louis’ lips. “Lucky for me.”

“And me.”

“So…” Harry ran his fingers along Louis’ arm, looking at him with a coquettish flutter of lashes. “Do you think I might be able to see some of the sculptures? I’ve only ever seen your paintings, I had no idea!”

Biting his lip, Louis hesitated just briefly before answering with a smile. “Yeah, of course. Most of my stuff is in storage, but I have some sketches of a new series I’m working on that I can show you.”

Harry leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed contentedly, watching Louis walk to his office to retrieve the sketches. For the first time in years, he felt a real sense of peace about his life. 

\----

Calling Louis’ number, Harry was so excited he fumbled with his phone and nearly dropped it, twice, before managing to get through. 

“Hello, love. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Louis’ soft rasp and gentle teasing made Harry smile broadly. “You’re never going to guess what happened to me!”

“You had the best shag of your life last night?”

“No.” Harry rolled his eyes, fondly. “I mean, yes… but something else too!”

Louis chuckled at Harry’s enthusiasm. “You had me worried for a second. Tell me. What happened?”

“I got a call this morning from the Marlborough Gallery. They called _me_! They said they’d seen my new collection of paintings on my site and wanted to talk.”

“That’s brilliant! About time this city got their heads out of their asses about you. So? Do you have an appointment?” 

Practically vibrating with excitement, Harry had to take a deep breath before continuing. “I already went in to see them, Lou! They want to give me a show! A show of _my own_. I pretty much shat myself.” 

“Well, that would have been unfortunate, love.” 

“Louiiiiiiis…..” Harry whined, exasperated. 

“I’m teasing, H. That’s fantastic news. I can’t wait to hear all the details. When’s the show scheduled for?”

“Well, that’s the craziest part. Apparently they had an exhibition booked, but the artist needed to pull out at the last minute, so they have an opening for me starting next week!” His voice turned more contemplative as the reality of that settled in. “Not much time for promo, but I’m not going to complain. Bloody _Marlborough Gallery_ , Louis. I’m over the moon.” 

“I’m so proud of you, darling.” Harry smiled at the warmth he could feel in Louis’ voice.

“And the best part is that I got it on my own. I got it because they loved my art. Not because of who I’m dating. Not because someone wanted a quick fuck in exchange for it. It was just on my own artistic merit and it feels so good _I could cry_.”

There was so much adrenaline pumping through Harry’s body, he didn’t even fully realise what he’d said. But the long pause and then the strangled sound of Louis’ voice brought him back down to earth.

_“What?”_

Shit. Fuck. That’s definitely not the way he’d planned to open up about that part of his past. Harry’s mind was whirring as he fumbled out an answer. 

“Oh god. I’m _sorry_. I’ve just had some really shit experiences. I didn’t mean to tell you that way, though.”

He was about to start rambling again to fill the dead air when Louis spoke again––this time sounding distracted and short.

“It’s OK. Listen, I have to go. I have a client due any minute. But I’ll call later.”

Harry’s face fell at Louis’ response. He knew he was being brushed off, but there was no point in trying to clear things up until they had more time later.

\----

They didn’t talk later. Or the next day. Louis finally texted on the third day and made no mention of the previous conversation. Harry sent the invitation for his show’s opening night celebration with a handwritten note saying he would love it if Louis could be there, and got a text back with a thumbs up. Something was clearly off, and Harry was annoyed. But if Louis was going to blow Harry off because of things he’d done in the past, he didn’t have time to worry about it right now. Getting everything ready for the exhibition was Harry’s only priority.

With a huff, he shoved his phone into his pocket as he opened the door to the Marlborough Gallery. As he took in the space again, he felt his stomach flip. Just two more days and his art would be hanging here––in the same space that had launched the careers of artists Harry had admired his whole life. He felt giddy with excitement. The only damper was the weirdness between him and Louis, but he brushed it aside, confident they’d work it out. 

“Harry, so lovely to see you.” The gallery director greeted him with a warm smile and a kiss to the cheek. “Are you here to check on the plan for the installation?”

Unlike many people in her position, she seemed to genuinely appreciate her artists’ talent, and took great pride in championing them to her clientele. Harry had taken an instant liking to her. 

“So good to see you again, too, Annette.” Harry returned the kiss and took in the now-empty walls. “Yeah, I’d love to see what order you’re thinking of, and can we talk about the lighting as well?”

“Absolutely, dear.” Leading him back to her office, she smiled over her shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse the disaster in here. It’s been madness since Comrade pulled out, but I’m ever so grateful they suggested your work. I’m thrilled to find such a talented newcomer.”

Annette prattled on as she shuffled papers on her desk looking for her plans. But for Harry it was as if a car had come to a screeching halt in front of him and all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Harry? Did you hear what I said?” 

Harry blinked rapidly and did his best to get his focus back on Annette. “I’m so sorry. I was thrown off by the mention of Comrade. I- I didn’t know they were the reason you found me.”

“Oh, yes, they were! They were so apologetic about having to cancel and we were in such a bind because of it. But they were so enthusiastic about your work. It must feel good to know you’ve got such a huge name in your corner.”

Harry’s heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid you could see it through his jumper. Taking a deep breath, he tried to play it off. “Oh, yes… I’m really honoured. I love Comrade’s work. I just… was surprised.”

Annette gave a frustrated huff and tossed a folder on her desk. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I think my assistant moved the plans for your show. I’ll be right back.”

As she rushed out of the office, teetering on dangerously high heels, Harry dropped into a chair and stared, wide-eyed, into space. _How the fuck did Comrade know about his work?_ Sure, he’d put pictures of it all up on his website, but only his programme leader and Louis knew about that. Harry's eyes flitted over Annette’s messy desk, catching on something that looked familiar. 

As he hesitantly reached out to pull the papers closer to him, his breath caught in his chest, and a cold sense of dread filled his stomach. These were the sketches Louis had shown him the other night, the same sure lines, the same shapes, the same notations in the borders. Louis had apparently submitted his work to the same gallery. But that wasn’t what had Harry feeling like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach all over the desk.

It was the fact that Louis’ drawings were gathered together in a folder labeled with big, red letters: Comrade.

\----

Harry was too busy, and too stressed to deal with whatever the fuck was going on with Louis. He was preparing for the biggest night of his career to date and that had to be where his focus was. Pushing his anger and hurt aside for now, he focused all of his attention on making sure the evening would go as well as possible. Based on the texts he sent, Louis seemed to assume that’s what was going on. And Harry just didn't have the energy to correct him. 

_Later. After the weekend._ That’s what Harry told himself. _Once this weekend is past I’ll talk to him and confront him about what I know. Right now focus on yourself. Don’t fuck this up._

The night of the opening, Harry’s stomach was in knots. Fastening his pearls and arranging them so they peeked out from under the lace collar of his shirt, he checked himself one last time. Standing up straight, he gave a look over his shoulder to check his bum in the mirror and smiled––Harris Reed knew how to make clothing that accentuated Harry’s body just right. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of Annette’s office and onto the gallery floor.

Given the short notice for the show, he was surprised by how many people were already there. Annette had really pulled out all the stops––it looked as if she’d personally invited everyone she knew. Nabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he made his way through the crowd, he caught bits of conversation along the way.

_“They make me feel so much. It’s as if the artist reached into my soul and spread it across the canvas. The use of light and texture gives it such a sense of pain…”_

_“I haven’t seen something this exciting since Marguerite turned us on to that abstract impressionist she bought those pieces from for her country home. What was his name…”_

_“I love each one more than the last. How is that possible? I hear the artist is very young, as well. It might be smart to invest in them early…”_

Harry felt as if he was floating by the time he found Annette at the front of the gallery. Surrounded by a crowd of people all gesticulating excitedly, she waved Harry over. 

“Harry, sweetheart! Come meet everyone.” With her arm extended towards him, she turned her body to face the group of people gathered around her and, like a proud mother, made her introduction. “Friends, this is the artist you’ve all been raving about. This… is Harry Styles.”

To his surprise, Olivier stood among the people gathered there. Really, Harry should have expected him to be here, of _course_ he was on Annette’s guest list. But he’d, more or less, put Olivier out of his mind, despite his attempts to see Harry again. Clenching his jaw as he remembered that _Louis_ was the main reason he’d forgotten about Olivier, Harry greeted him with a dimpled grin and a kiss to both cheeks.

“Olivier, quelle merveilleuse surprise!”

With a wink and a brilliant smile of his own, Olivier responded, “Bonjour ‘Harry. C'est bon de savoir que tu ne m'as pas oublié.”

“How could I ever forget you?” Harry said, coyly, as Olivier’s eyes twinkled with the pleasure of being flirted with. 

Turning to the rest of the group, Harry answered questions and humbly accepted their praise of his art––charming everyone, as Olivier watched, proudly. In the back of his mind, Harry felt a vague irritation brewing, as if somehow Olivier was taking credit for Harry’s hard work, but he pushed it aside, along with his confusing mix of feelings about Louis. Now was not the time.

Eventually excusing himself, Harry made his way through the crowd, greeting those he knew and meeting those he didn’t. As he chatted casually with an older couple who were, perhaps, a little extra tipsy on champagne, his eyes caught a glimpse of soft brown hair and sharply defined cheekbones. _Louis_. Harry had expected him, but at the same time it was like a punch to the gut to see him after so many days. He felt his stomach plummet to his feet at the same time a hot flash of anger ripped through him. At Harry’s frown, Louis’ face morphed into one of confusion and his bright smile melted as he made his way over. 

Aware that the room was full of people, Harry allowed Louis to kiss his cheek in greeting, but otherwise his face remained impassive.

Clearing his throat, Louis looked contrite as he began to speak quietly, “Harry, I know this isn’t the time, but I want you to know I’m sorry…”

Harry was sure the sour face he made said _“Oh, really?”_ because that was what was running through his head. Instead, making sure his voice was low enough so only Louis could hear, he said, “What for, Louis? Lying to me? Or for assuming I’m the whore everyone says I am?”

Louis grimaced, pulling back with a shocked frown. “I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about right now. I was trying to apologise for going a bit ghost this week…”

Harry scoffed and started to reply, but, because the universe had decided to make everything infinitely more complicated, Olivier walked up just then, putting his hand low on Harry’s back. His eyes flicked towards Louis and with a feigned apology he said, “Excuse us please, I have some important people to introduce Harry to.”

Louis’ eyebrows rose to his hairline at the rudeness of the interruption, but Harry was too angry to make amends, and instead allowed himself to be maneouvred towards another group of people. Turning back, he watched as Louis’ confusion turned to irritation over the way Olivier’s hand never left Harry’s body.

 _Fuck him. He has no right to be angry with me after what he did._ Never mind that Louis didn’t actually _know_ Harry had found out, Harry was livid, and Louis was going to feel it. With a frown and snooty jerk of his head away from Louis, Harry exaggeratedly leaned into Olivier and laughed at something he’d said. Oblivious, Olivier seemed pleased and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. 

Feeling smug, Harry chanced another look back. The dark stare and grim mouth that met his eyes made Harry shiver, but Louis stayed where he was, glass of champagne in hand, watching as Harry flirted with Olivier and worked the crowd. And part of Harry loved it, remembering how sexy he’d felt as Louis watched him dancing in the bar. But this was different and he knew it. He wanted Louis to want him, but he also wanted to hurt him. Louis had been lying to his face for weeks, and if he could lie about something as important as his own identity, who knew what else he’d lied about?

As the evening continued, Olivier was attentive almost to the point of being possessive––his hand always somewhere on Harry’s body, his eyes following him around the room. Harry’s mind flashed back to Louis and how much he’d _liked_ that behavior from him, but with Olivier it felt like too much unwanted attention. Louis, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken to Harry since he’d come in, although he’d watched from the sidelines as Harry (and Olivier) moved around the room. 

In a way, it felt like two prizefighters circling the ring, sizing each other up. Tension zipped between them and, as the crowd thinned out, Harry’s heart began to speed up. It was clear Louis was intending to stay and talk once the night was over. Harry’s tendency to let his emotions build up until everything spilled out, like a pot boiling over, meant that he generally tried to avoid confrontation. But he knew they needed to clear the air. 

Before he knew it, Louis was walking towards him. In a black track jacket, fitted close to his slim torso, and his muscular curves wrapped in tight black trousers, he was like a panther. Stalking slowly across the room, smooth as silk, Louis’ eyes were fixed on Harry. And Harry felt like a deer, eyes wide and heart beating madly, caught out in the open with nowhere to hide. 

He knew hiding was the wrong approach, anyway. He needed to face this head on. And so he waited for Louis to reach him. 

“Was a great turnout. ‘M happy for you.” Louis’ smile didn’t reach his eyes, but Harry wasn’t really surprised. He didn’t feel like there was much to smile about either, despite the fact that the night seemed to be a massive success. 

“Thanks. It was nice of you to come tonight.” Harry’s voice sounded as flat as he felt. Now that opening night was all but over, and the week’s stress and turmoil mostly behind him, he felt like his strings had been cut––barely having energy to make conversation. 

“Wha-”

“Look, I-”

As both of them started to speak at the same time, Louis smiled tiredly and gestured for Harry to go ahead. 

“I was just going to say that we obviously have some things we need to talk about. But I’d rather not do it here.”

Hands in his pockets, Louis nodded his head as he held Harry’s gaze. His eyes glittered blue and green under the gallery’s bright lights, flecks of amber mixed in like gems under a clear ocean. Harry was so angry. He didn’t want to look at Louis and find him beautiful––he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and make him see how much Louis had _hurt_ him.

As unwanted tears started filling his eyes, he hissed under his breath at Louis. “How could you _lie_ to me for so long? Why didn’t you _tell_ me who you were?” He could feel his face flushing as he spit out the words. “Were you just laughing behind my back while I opened up so much of myself to you?”

Louis’ eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open. He choked out a whispered answer, “H- how did you find out?” As Harry pulled back ready to attack, Louis held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. That’s not important. I just wasn’t expecting that, _at all_. I just- please let me explain, Harry. It’s not like that.”

Once again, Olivier walked over, gleaming smile and hand extended. “Hello again. I don’t believe we’ve met. Olivier Dumas”.

Louis raised an eyebrow, ignoring Olivier’s hand. “Louis Tomlinson. This isn’t a great time, mate.” 

Frowning, Olivier turned to Harry, running a hand down his back and quietly asked, “Is he bothering you, chéri?”

Rolling his eyes at Louis’ snort over the term of endearment, Harry gave Olivier a tight-lipped smile. “No, I have a little unfinished business with him. I’m fine though.”

Olivier nodded his head towards him in acquiescence, and then turned towards Louis with a frown. Before he could get a word out, Louis sneered, his voice like ice. “Ouais. Va te faire voir, _chéri_. Et arrête de le toucher autant. On dirait un vieux pervers."

Louis spoke too quickly for Harry to catch what he’d said, but Olivier’s red face and bulging neck veins told him it hadn’t been complementary. Harry put his hand on Olivier’s arm and softly but firmly said, “Thank you, Olivier. I can take care of myself.”

With a frustrated sigh he watched as Olivier walked to the other side of the gallery, looking back every so often to glare at Louis. Harry turned to Louis and with quiet venom in his voice, he pointed a finger at Louis’ chest, “ _You_ didn’t tell me you were a fucking _world famous artist_ . _You_ let me think I got this exhibition on my own merit when they only asked me because _you_ pulled out of your _own_ show and left them high and dry before suggesting me.” 

Louis opened his mouth and shut it. Seemingly unsure of how to respond. Harry took the momentary hesitation to barrel on.

“Why’d you do it? What’d you hear about me, Louis? Did your snobby, insular clique of artist friends tell you what a slag I was? How easy I was for anyone who could open a few doors?” 

“What the fuck, Harry? No!” Louis looked completely bewildered, but Harry was too worked up to slow down. 

“Who’d you talk to? Christopher Kincaid? David Abbott at Saatchi? You thought it was your turn, but you’d make it a bit more fun and fuck me first? See if I was even worth the favour?”

With a mocking laugh, he shook his head as if disgusted with himself. “And I was such an _idiot_ . I just fell for it all––I fell for your softness and your sweet words, but you were lying to me the whole time. I was so afraid to end up back on that council estate I grew up on that I dated dickheads like Christopher who just ended up passing me around like I’m some _whore_ .” Angrily wiping away tears, his voice cracked as he whispered, “ _But no one_ has _ever_ made me feel as worthless as you have.” 

As Harry’s chest rose and fell with the exertion that speech had taken, Louis just stared at him, looking like he was going to be sick. 

As the silence grew around them, Harry scoffed and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translation:
> 
> “Olivier, quelle merveilleuse surprise!” / "Olivier, what a wonderful surprise!"
> 
> “Bonjour Harry. C'est bon de savoir que tu ne m'as pas oublié.” / "Hello, Harry. It's good to know you haven't forgotten me."
> 
> Chéri / Darling
> 
> “Ouais. Va te faire voir, chéri . Et arrête de le toucher autant. On dirait un vieux pervers." /  
> "Yeah. Get lost, _darling_. And stop touching him so much. You look like an old creep." 
> 
> ______________________
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback on the beginning of the fic. Your enthusiasm and encouragement makes all the difference! If you're enjoying the fic, please consider reblogging the fic post [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/618768341893627904/gathered-on-wings-by-brooklynbabylon). If you'd like to scroll through my inspiration posts for this fic, you can do that [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/tagged/gathered-on-wings).


	4. Chapter 4

_“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul,_ _and paints his own nature into his pictures”_

_– Henry Ward Beecher_

  
  


Sunday morning broke, grey and cloudy. Groaning, Harry pushed his face further into the pillow and pulled the duvet up over his shoulder. From the safety of his cocoon, he peeked an eye open. The events of last night started to filter into his semi-conscious brain and he curled up tighter, wishing it was a month ago so he could avoid ever having met Louis Tomlinson the second time around. 

He forced himself to get out of bed and shower, then dressed himself comfortably in joggers and an oversized hoodie, his thick socks making the walk to the kitchen more like a shuffle-slide. As he nibbled on a banana, he masochistically used the Yorkshire Tea he’d bought for Louis, to make himself a morning cuppa while he scrolled distractedly through the voice messages on his phone.

His mum had called. Twice. He’d call her back later. Niall. Probably wanting details on the show. Olivier. He’d need a strong coffee before listening to _his_ message. His heart lodged firmly in his throat as he saw the next name. 

_Mr Tomlinson_.

He'd entered it in that way as a joke, a reminder of their first meeting. Harry shivered when he remembered how Louis had approached him there, asking what Harry had thought of the art. 

_‘You don’t think it’s a bit… mundane?’_

Now he couldn’t help but wonder why Louis had come up to him. Had he actually just wanted to meet Harry? Had he heard about who Harry was? What had he known at that point? 

_'I wanted you the minute I saw you.’_

They had been at a showing of Louis’ art––art that sold for hundreds of thousands of pounds––and still, he chose to remain anonymous. Why? 

Harry remembered how Francesca had dismissed Louis at his own exhibition and huffed out a laugh thinking how mortified she’d be if she knew what she’d done.

He was still holding the phone, staring at the un-opened voicemail. Louis must have called last night after Harry had basically vomited all of his anger onto him and then stormed off. Harry wasn’t used to venting his feelings at all, generally choosing to turn it all inward, and he’d gotten so flustered and upset that he hadn’t even given Louis a chance to speak. But it seemed Louis had things he needed to say. The question was, was Harry ready to hear them?

With a shaky finger, he pressed the screen to play Louis’ message. 

“Harry… it's me. Louis…” His normally raspy voice sounded raw and shaky.

 _Good_ , thought Harry. _You should feel as shitty as I do._

“I know you’re furious with me. I- I really fucked up. And you probably don’t want to talk to me again.”

 _You’ve got that right,_ Harry rolled his eyes.

“But there’s _so much_ you’ve misunderstood.” 

Harry frowned at the phone in his hand. He was still so angry, and hurt, and really fucking embarrassed. What could Louis possibly say to change that?

“And whatever you think I was doing,” Louis’ voice continued, as if in answer. “I was absolutely _not_ taking ‘my turn’ at using you. I can’t _stand_ the thought of you believing that’s all that you are to me. So, even if you don’t want to hear the rest, at _least_ let me explain to you exactly how much you mean to me.... please.”

_How much you mean to me…_

Suddenly, the phone rang in his hand, startling him so much that he nearly dropped it. Louis’ face stared at him on the screen, his smile so wide that his gorgeous eyes were nearly slits, hidden by his deep laugh lines. That smile had made Harry’s heart sing when it was directed towards him––now he felt a little queasy. What would he regret more, he wondered. Letting Louis try to explain himself? Or refusing to listen?

With a stuttering breath, he answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi! H-Harry, hi. It’s me. Louis.” Noticing how husky and tired he sounded, Harry wondered if Louis had slept as poorly as he had, himself. 

“Hi. Um… I just got the message you left last night,” Harry said, aware that he didn’t sound much better. Still, he tried to keep his voice steady as he moved towards the living room. 

“Oh. Good. That’s good.” Louis paused and Harry tried to keep from feeling irritated at the attempt at small talk. He really wasn’t in the mood for it. 

_Just tell me what you want from me. Fix this or leave me alone!_

“I… um… so, I was hoping I could come and see you? Just to explain everything…” Louis’ voice had sped up, like his nerves were getting to him. “I promise I won’t stay long, but I’d really like to do it in person… if you’ll let me.”

Watching a ray of sun break through the clouds outside and find its way in through the living room window, Harry let the sound of Louis’ voice wash over him. The light, bouncing off one of the crystals hanging from the chandelier, created a tiny rainbow that spilled across his lap as he curled up on the sofa. 

_If you’ll let me._

Reaching a hand to wiggle his fingers through the rainbow, Harry took in a deep breath, and slowly closed his eyes. “OK.”

_Please… please don’t make me regret this._

Louis’ breath hitched on the other end of the line and his voice was much softer when he spoke this time. “OK?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I… OK. Thank you, Harry.”

\----

Harry had chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, had tried to eat breakfast only to feel too nauseous to finish, and had changed his outfit three times. He rolled his eyes at himself. _You don’t want to look like you tried, Harry._ He ended up back in what he’d put on that morning. _Fine. Decent compromise between looking fit and looking like shit._ He snorted at his own stupid rhyme. 

The door buzzer went off, and as he walked to the door to let Louis in, he felt his stomach flip at the memory of the last time he’d come over. Harry’s eyes skimmed over the sofa, and a wave of mourning passed over him as he pulled the door open. 

And just like last time, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and everything around Harry became blurred and out of focus, except for the man standing in front of him. Louis’ eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the skin underneath looking slightly bruised and purple from lack of sleep. His hair was sticking up in every direction, as if his hands had been running through it for hours. Yet, he was still the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. And it pissed him off. 

_How dare he be so gorgeous when I’m so angry at him?_

Louis said hello with a small smile and an aborted movement to hug Harry, that turned into a weird wave. Sighing, Harry stepped back and gestured for Louis to come in.

“Do you want anything? I can make some tea.” Harry pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, nervously. 

Scratching his unshaven face, Louis shrugged. “Sure...if it’s not a bother.”

“No. Course not.” 

It felt uncharacteristically awkward, the two of them standing together, not speaking. From the get go they’d fallen into a level of familiarity with each other that Harry had never experienced with anyone else, so this stilted discomfort made him feel desperately sad. And at the same time, he was incredibly angry that Louis had put them in this situation (even if a tiny part of his brain acknowledged that it couldn’t be _entirely_ Louis’ fault. But he was angry, and right now he was ignoring that part of his brain). 

With the tea ready, Harry handed Louis his mug, and walked towards the living room. Purposely avoiding the sofa, he sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs opposite it. Louis followed Harry’s line of sight, dropping his eyes to his feet with a pained expression, and sat in the matching chair. As Harry took a sip and looked over his mug, it struck him that Louis’ compact frame seemed smaller than usual.

Louis raised his eyes, and that’s when Harry realised it wasn’t just the oversized chair, but his demeanour that had shifted things. He’d always been loud, seeming so much larger than life, the person everyone’s eyes were drawn to. But today everything about him was subdued––from the grey jumper he wore, to the way he sat, folded up and turned towards Harry, to the soft turn of his wrist as he settled his mug on the table. 

Louis cleared his throat and caught Harry’s eye. “Thank you for letting me come over. I- it means a lot.”

With a little shrug, Harry took another sip of tea before speaking. “Well, I’m angry, but you do deserve to say your piece. I’m adult enough to admit that.”

Louis scrubbed both hands over his face and let out a big exhale. “God, I don’t even know where to begin. Everything just went pear-shaped in the blink of an eye.” Rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, he sat up straighter. “OK. I guess I should just start at the beginning… remember I told you I’d left Paris, and Maxime, to move to New York?”

“Yes, and that your work went well there but people in New York were only interested in you if you had money and connections. I remember.” Harry frowned. Where was this going?

“I’m glad you were listening.” Louis smiled, shyly, at his joke. “What I left out of the story was that New York was where I developed the persona of Comrade. At first it was a gimmick for my work, something that made me different. Mysterious.”

Running a hand through his hair, Louis dropped his eyes as he continued. “The thing was, Comrade’s work started to get more and more well-known. I was more successful than I ever dreamed I would be. On top of that, I had met someone I thought was really special. It was an exhilarating time.”

Louis’ eyes darted back to Harry. “He was also an artist. And after a few months, he began to pressure me into helping him get his work seen. But I couldn’t do it and I told him that. He couldn’t understand that when I recommend something or someone, that’s me putting my word, my integrity –– my _brand_ –– on the line to say: ‘I stand behind this’. And I just _don’t_ do that lightly”.

Louis’ voice had become strained with emotion, his elegant hands fluttering around his face as he spoke. “To be completely honest, he wasn’t a very good artist––he made art to be a part of a crowd he wanted to socialise with. But it wasn’t art made with his _soul_. It didn’t come from anywhere other than a desire to be famous. You know?” 

His brow furrowed, Harry nodded and answered quietly, “Yeah. I do know. I think… I think there’s a difference in what you make when you’re sharing something that’s an expression of such a deep part of you, versus something you make because you think it will sell, or it’s whatever happens to be in style at the moment.”

“Exactly.” For the first time in days, Harry saw a flash of Louis’ brilliant smile. “Anyway, when he realised that I really wasn’t going to go out of my way to pull strings for him, he ended up threatening to expose who Comrade was, which at the time, felt as though it would ruin me. The people who bought my work, bought it partially because of the mystery that surrounded it and I didn’t think it would survive me being basically ‘outed’”. 

“He _blackmailed_ you?” Harry felt the beginning stages of outrage building inside him. Yes, he was still upset with Louis and he still hadn’t made it clear what any of this had to do with Harry, but what Louis’ ex had done was despicable. 

A faint blush painted Louis’ cheeks as he fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper. “Essentially. Yes. I ended up having to give him a huge sum of money to stay quiet. I had legal documents drawn up to make sure he could never say anything. But the whole experience just… I became so _wary_ of everyone.” 

Louis leaned forward in the chair, keeping their gazes locked. “So, no I didn’t tell you who I was. And I can see how that was a huge mistake. I can see how it would make me seem like a liar. I hadn’t told anyone who I was in so long, and what goes along with knowing who I am is just so _complicated_ ––it felt like too much to ask of someone I’d only just started seeing. I swear I _did_ intend to tell you. My only excuse for not doing it is that I was scared and wanted to know you just a bit longer before I did.”

Louis’ cheeks puffed out with the force of his exhale. “You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever dated, Harry. I’ve never had a partner who supported me so wholeheartedly and without agenda. You make me feel accepted for who I am––in this moment––regardless of what I’ve done or where I’m going.” Louis leaned his body forward, moving into Harry’s line of sight. “I’m so sorry it took this long for my brain to catch up to my heart and realise that you were, _without a doubt_ , someone worth trusting. 

Harry bit his lip, feeling close to tears. “Thank you for saying I’m trustworthy. It means a lot to me. I’ll sign anything you want me to, but I hope you can believe that I’d _never_ do anything like what your ex did. I know how important your work is to you, and threatening to destroy your ability to do something that’s so clearly a part of you is just… cruel.” 

Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes as he looked at the mug of tea in his hands. “When I saw your sketches in Annette’s office and saw them labelled “Comrade” and then she told me that’s who recommended me… my head was spinning.” He looked back at Louis, his brow furrowed. “You’d more or less stopped talking to me that week, after I made that stupid comment about landing the show without-” Harry felt his face flush, but tried to hold Louis’ gaze. “...without having to sleep with anyone to get it. I thought you were disgusted by me.”

Louis’ face softened as he reached a hand across the space between the chairs. “Harry… I never thought that. _Ever_. I was acting weirdly because I had no idea how important it was to you to get that show at Marlborough on your own, and once I did, I didn’t know how to tell you what I’d done without first telling you who I was...”

“I don’t like that you lied to me, and that you cut me out when things got a little uncomfortable. But I really appreciate that you’re being so open now.” Looking at Louis with watery eyes, Harry took his outstretched hand and hiccuped out a soft little sob. “Finding out that Christopher had been gossiping about me really got under my skin… I was under so much pressure that I wasn't thinking clearly, at all. I’m _really_ sorry I was so awful to you last night.”

Louis squeezed his hand and choked out a quiet, “Thank you for the apology.”

“No, really. I- I jumped to all sorts of awful conclusions about you and I behaved like a petulant brat and I wish I’d been clear-headed enough to talk to you about it all instead of blowing up.” Harry wiped at his eyes and turned his body to face Louis more fully. “Thank you for still wanting to talk to me even though I was so mean to you.”

Louis huffed out a quiet laugh. “I mean… I won’t lie and say any of it felt _good_. But we both dropped the ball, as far as communication is concerned.” Pausing, his face morphed into something anguished. “Have I really done things to make you feel like a whore? Like I expect sexual favors from you? That I’m not serious about you?” 

Harry winced hearing his accusations repeated. “In the light of day, thinking with a clearer head, no.” He wrung his hands as he tried to arrange his thoughts. “I guess I developed a bit of a reputation in certain circles because all of the men I’ve dated have been older and very wealthy.” His eyes fearfully darted to Louis’, but all Harry saw was curiosity. “And, god, I know it sounds awful when I just say it like that, but…”

“Harry. Take a deep breath, I’m honestly not judging you. I just want to understand.” Harry felt his body settle at the soothing tone of Louis’ voice.

Harry nodded and tried again. “OK. So, the thing is… we never had much when I was growing up. Mum tried her best, but it was just her, you know? Nothing ever really felt like it was _mine_ , everything was always shared, always a hand-me-down. Nothing was ever permanent––except the worry about how we were going to have enough food or how we were going to keep the lights on.” He began to fiddle with the strings on his joggers, just to avoid looking at Louis. 

“So there was never any extra for things like books, or art; things that weren’t considered _necessities_. But sometimes I would manage to set aside a little bit and I would buy something that was just for me––some pretty pencils or one time a cheap set of watercolor paints.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry felt tears well up at the memory. “And I’d take my treasures and hide somewhere to draw or paint until I could imagine myself somewhere beautiful, somewhere that didn’t make me feel like I was constantly drowning.”

“That internship at the Tate was a godsend. For the first time I was around people who understood how much art could make a difference, how it felt to _have_ to create because otherwise you would just wither up and die.”

Harry wiped his tears with the sleeves of his hoodie and sniffled. “Art made me feel _alive_. I needed to find a way to escape a life where the _best_ I could hope for was to barely survive but never _create_.”

Sitting up straighter, Harry pushed himself to look at Louis again, jutting his chin out in an attempt to look more confident than he felt. “So, when I met someone who offered to take care of me in exchange for being able to call me his boyfriend… I jumped at that chance. And when that relationship ended, I found another one. And it continued. Because I was _damned_ if I was ever going to go back to hoarding stolen moments of happiness in order to survive long stretches of misery.”

Louis had been quiet the whole time Harry was speaking, only his ever-expressive face showing how much he understood Harry, and how touched he was that Harry had shared all of that with him. Harry felt so grateful that, for once, he had someone really _listening_ , and not just waiting for their turn to speak. 

“And the Frenchman last night, Olivier? Is he someone you want to date?”

Harry grimaced at the memory of how he’d behaved with Olivier. “In the past, he would have been exactly my type, just because I thought that was the only kind of man who could really make me feel safe in the way I needed.” Harry paused, rubbing a finger over his eyebrow. “I’m really sorry for the way I acted around him last night. I was trying to hurt you and it was just… childish.” 

“I appreciate that, Harry. Thank you.” Louis’ voice was soft as he responded, his eyes lingering on the way Harry’s teeth sunk into his lower lip. “So, what were you doing with _me_ , then? As far as you were aware, I didn’t fit your usual… type.”

“I know. I mean… you’re old. But not _that_ old.” Harry smirked at Louis’ offended yelp, and continued. “No, you’re right. In the past, the choices I made about who I dated were purely strategic. I’d never been able to let my guard down, never had anyone just take care of everything _for_ me. It was so nice to let go of that responsibility for once, that I guess I justified feeling taken advantage of.” 

Running a hand through his curls, Harry leaned into Louis’ space. “But you… you flipped _everything_ on its head. You made me want more for myself. For once I got a taste of what it would be like to be with someone who treated me with respect, who saw some value in me beyond what I looked like or could provide, sexually. And I felt really taken care of in a way I’d never experienced.”

“That’s all I ever really wanted, H––to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. And I want you to understand that when I encouraged Annette to look at your work, that I did it because I _know_ how talented you are. And I would have done it even if we weren’t dating. I meant what I said before… I don’t hand out recommendations lightly.” 

Harry blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by what Louis was telling him. None of the men he’d dated before had put themselves out there the way Louis had––for them there had been no risk involved, no authentic backing of their belief in Harry’s talent. 

“I- I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Lou. Like, beyond that it was such an amazing opportunity. The fact that you believe in my work, in _me_ , enough to do that...I ’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me like that. Ever.”

“I’m happy I was in a position to do it for you… but I hope you understand it wasn’t a handout. Annette wouldn’t have given you your own exhibition if she didn’t see the potential, even with my backing. Yes, I stepped out of the way to give you a shot, but you _earned_ the spot on your own.” 

Nodding his head, Harry brought a hand to his heart as he spoke. “Thank you for saying that. I honestly couldn’t have done it without you... without that.” At Louis’ sound of disagreement, Harry put a hand up. “No, listen to me. It’s not just that you put my name in front of Annette. If I’d somehow been offered the opportunity a month ago, I don’t think I’d have been ready. It was because of _you_ that something opened up for me and allowed me to create work good enough to impress her. You made me feel… safe enough to try something new, to step away from doing things as I’d always done them.

His eyes suddenly opened wide and Harry dropped his face into his hands. “Oh _god_ . You did something so wonderful for me and I repaid you by being absolutely _awful_ to you. I’m so _so_ sorry.”

He heard Louis stand up and come crouch down in front of him, his voice gentle. “Love… please don’t feel bad. It was all a huge misunderstanding. And you explained everything. Really, truly, I get it. I forgive you… I really do.”

Louis’ eyes were teary as Harry peered through his fingers at him. How had he been so lucky to find him? And not just find him once, but twice. He reached out a hand to cup Louis’ jaw and stroke his thumb along Louis’ cheekbone as he managed a choked out “Thank you.”

“Are we okay, baby? Do you want to ask me anything else? Or do you need to talk a little more?”

Harry groaned as he pulled Louis up to sit on his lap in the chair. “No. No more talking for now. I just want to hold you. I’ve missed being close to you.”

Louis gracefully moved to sit with his knees on either side of Harry’s hips, and stroked a finger along his cupid’s bow, his eyes darting over Harry’s face. “I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

Harry’s face crumpled as he leaned in to press a kiss to Louis’ mouth. “I’m sorry I scared you. Thank you for not giving up on me. On us.”

“You can’t get rid of me _that_ easily.” Smiling softly, he leaned forward to catch Harry’s lips in a gentle kiss. “I missed you… so much.”

“Missed you, too. Missed the way you make me feel.” Harry’s words were mumbled into the crook of Louis’ neck as he pulled him into a tight hug. 

Running his hands up and down Harry’s back, Louis tried to stifle a yawn and then laughed. “I’m exhausted… do you think we could lie down and have a cuddle?”

“Yeah. That sounds like such a good idea. I hardly slept last night.”

Once in Harry’s bedroom and stripped down to their pants, they both crawled under the duvet, Louis pulling Harry close in order to curl around his back. While he nuzzled into the back of Harry’s neck, Harry took Louis’ hand to hold between his, pressing soft kisses along his knuckles as they both drifted off for some much-needed rest.

\----

Harry woke slowly, feeling a gentle tickle along his back. He blinked his eyes open, trying to gather his bearings, and smiled at the soft kisses being peppered along his shoulders. He twisted his neck to see behind himself and was greeted by Louis’ mussed hair and impish grin. 

“Hi.”

“Hi darling. Sorry I woke you,” Louis said, clearly not sorry at all.

Turning on to his back, Harry pulled Louis down for a kiss. “I’m not. I missed you.”

Laughing into Harry’s mouth as he kissed him back, Louis asked, “Isn’t there an Aerosmith song about that?”

As Harry frowned, trying to remember, Louis started to sing, quietly. 

_Don't want to close my eyes_

_I don't want to fall asleep_

_'Cause I'd miss you, babe_

_And I don't want to miss a thing_

Reaching up to tweak Louis’ nipple, Harry grinned. “You’re as sappy as I am.” 

“How dare you!” Squawking in protest, Louis retaliated with a hard pinch of his own to Harry’s nipple, followed by a little nip with his teeth. 

Harry choked on a moan as he arched his back. “Christ…”

Louis waggled his eyebrows as he leaned over Harry. “You _like_ when I’m a little rough with you, don’t you?”

Breathlessly Harry nodded. “Yeah… like it a lot.”

“I want to give you what you like… make you feel good.” Louis stroked his fingers down Harry’s torso and along the soft skin above the waistband of his briefs. “Wanna take care of you...”

Harry bit his lip, frowning. 

Noticing Harry’s hesitation, Louis gently asked, “What is it, baby? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want… you can tell me.”

Harry angled his body towards Louis so he could look at him more directly. He ran his fingers along Louis’ tattooed shoulder and spoke quietly. “I just don’t want to feel that I’m the only one enjoying it. I want _you_ to get pleasure from it as well.”

Louis' answering smile was full of affection as he brought a hand up to cup Harry’s cheek. “Baby, as much as you like being taken care of, I _love_ taking care of you. I love bringing you little gifts that remind me of you, and making you food. Love washing your hair, love watching you let go with me in bed...”

Harry smiled coyly, exaggeratedly batting his lashes at Louis. “You sound like you wanna be my _daddy_.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Louis’ breath hitched and a furious blush colored his face. 

_Oh._

His smile turning wicked, Harry sat up and moved in closer, his voice dropping lower, “You _like_ that idea, don’t you? Being my... _daddy_? Taking care of your baby…giving me what I need?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Louis whispered, and the way he shivered at Harry’s words made Harry’s whole body flush. 

Laying back down, he softened his voice as he slowly blinked his lashes and stretched his arms above his head. “Daddy? Aren’t you going to touch me? I can be so good for you…”

With his voice more strained than Harry had ever heard it before, Louis held Harry’s chin and turned his face so they were looking directly at each other. “What I need right now, baby… is to know you trust me. I want to take care of you, but I want you to be able to let go and know I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. Yeah?”

Harry nodded as Louis held him in place. “I trust you… I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Never. I would _never_ want to hurt you. All I want is to take care of you the way you deserve… the way you _need_.” Louis’ eyes had become hooded as he spoke.

“Yes… want that. Wanna be yours… be what you need, too. _Please?”_

Louis’ smile turned filthy at Harry’s plea. “So polite. Such a good boy for me. You gonna let daddy decide what to do with you today?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as his hips began moving in little circles, as if looking for friction for his rapidly filling cock. “Nngh. Yeah… want you to be in charge...”

“I can do that for you, baby, let you get out of your head… not have to think about anything.” Louis had moved down the bed and was slowly peeling off Harry’s pants. “I want you to remember to use your colours if you need to.”

Nodding his head so fast that his curls flopped in his face, Harry lifted his hips to help with his undressing. “Yes, I remember. Th- thank you.”

Spread-eagled and naked on the mattress, Harry’s cock lay thick, and hard, against his stomach. Louis watched him with a smirk, as he stood at the side of the bed, hands on his hips. “Look at that gorgeous dick. I can’t believe I haven’t let you fuck me yet… what a waste.”

“Oh… god.” Harry squeezed his hand around his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm as he moaned, loudly. Just the thought of pressing into Louis’ plush arse had him close to coming. 

Louis’ face was serious as he slipped off his pants. “Control yourself, darling,” he warned. “Can’t have you peaking too soon, now, can we?”

“No, no...I can be good. I promise.”

“I know you can, baby. You’re gonna let me use you to get myself off, aren’t you? Just let daddy take what he wants and you don’t have to do a thing but be a good boy?”

Feeling his heart rate pick up at the sight of Louis’ wicked grin, Harry sighed quietly. “Yeah. Want that… daddy.”

“Fuck. I love when you call me that.”

Harry grinned dopily, his limbs feeling like jelly already. “You’re such a good daddy. Make me feel so safe. Take good care of me.”

He was rambling, but Louis’ reaction to his words was worth everything. Harry’s eyes raked over his beautiful body, licking his lips at the sight of Louis’ cock, wet at the tip, hanging fully hard between his legs.

“Turn over, darling. I want to taste you.”

Harry flipped himself over so quickly he nearly flung himself off the side of the bed. Pulling a pillow to rest his head on, he turned his face to watch Louis as he settled himself down between Harry’s spread thighs. 

Louis ran his hands along Harry’s back and down to his hips, pressing a kiss to each knob of his spine, making Harry groan with every mumbled word of praise. Closing his eyes, Harry tried to focus on every sensation––from the pressure of Louis’ fingertips gripping the cheeks of his arse, to the tickle of the cool air as his hole was exposed. And then, holy shit, the wet, slick slide of Louis’ tongue and the vibration of his moan against Harry’s skin…

Was it possible to die from pleasure? 

Louis pushed deeper between Harry’s cheeks as he licked and nipped at his rim. His tongue pushing its way into Harry’s hole, a finger sliding in beside it, stretching… teasing. Harry whimpered as Louis began to suck love bites into the delicate skin of his inner thighs. His beard scratched along Harry’s hole, across his balls, and then over and over again against his thighs, and the pleasure-pain of it had Harry writhing and rutting against the bed. Suddenly Louis pulled his face away and Harry felt the sharp sting of a slap against his arse cheek. 

“None of that, baby.” Louis’ voice was stern as he gripped Harry’s hips and pulled him up so his cock no longer touched the bed. “Daddy decides what you get and when you get it. Be a good boy.”

Harry’s pillow was wet where the drool had been slipping from his mouth. He wiped his chin and looked over his shoulder, with contrition. “’M sorry daddy, it just feels so good.”

“I know baby. I forgive you… this time. Don’t make me punish you though.” 

Harry’s dick gave an interested twitch at the thought of being punished, but he wanted to do his best to be good for his daddy. He smiled to himself at the thought. He knew all his ex-boyfriends had basically been sugar daddies––they had supported him financially, paid for trips, clothes, tuition––but Harry had never once thought of any of them as ‘daddy’. But Louis… _he_ was daddy. Daddy made him feel safe and cared for, emotionally; never made Harry feel like he _owed_ him anything, or had to do things just to prove his worth. And the idea of giving over control to someone he trusted so completely, someone Harry knew just wanted to be good to him, made his toes curl.

Pulling his face away from between Harry’s legs, Louis tapped his hip. “Turn on your back, sweetheart. Spread yourself out and let me get a look at you.”

As Harry shifted on to his back, he watched Louis get up from where he was sitting, knee his way to the edge of the bed, and stand up. Harry whipped his head to the side, alarmed, and grunted. “Wha– where you going, Lou?”

Looking over his shoulder, Louis arched a single eyebrow at him. 

Harry smiled and bit his lip, his breath hitching as he corrected himself sheepishly. “I- I mean, daddy. Where’re you going, daddy?” 

With his hand on Harry’s chest of drawers, Louis grinned mischievously. “I wanted to see if any of those headscarves you wear sometimes were in here.”

Brow furrowed, Harry nodded. “Yeah… they’re in that top drawer on the left. Why?”

“Be patient, darling.” Louis rummaged around for a moment and then turned with his hands full of coloured silks and a wicked smile on his face. 

Placing the scarves on the bed next to Harry’s hip, Louis quickly found the lube and condoms in Harry’s bedside table, and set them aside. Harry’s heart had started to beat faster, his dick giving an interested twitch. Pulling a scarf out of the pile, Louis dragged the tail of it slowly across Harry’s nipples, smiling as the nubs hardened under the delicate tickle. 

“I love how responsive your body is to everything… it’s so fucking sexy.” 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. He felt strangely shy at the compliment. Louis had a way of focusing on things no one had ever pointed out to Harry and it made him a bit tongue-tied. 

“I can feel your brain working, baby. Overthinking. Worrying.” Louis smiled, softly. “I’m going to help you with that. Let you relax so you don’t have to think about a thing. Trust me?”

Looking at the scarves and then at Louis, Harry nodded with a dreamy smile. “I trust you… daddy.” He liked the idea of not thinking, not having to make decisions...

“Ok, darling, I want you to reach up and find a comfortable place to hold on to the headboard.”

Harry moaned quietly, his hips starting to jerk up of their own accord. As he stretched his arms above his head, Harry smiled and kept his eyes on Louis. “You tying me up daddy? Gonna keep me still?”

Louis leaned his body forward and slid a scarf around each of Harry’s wrists, tying them to the slats of the headboard, then, he slipped a couple of fingers in between the fabric and Harry’s skin to make sure he wasn’t bound too tightly. “Not to keep you still, baby. Just so you can just let go and let me do all the work.”

After kissing his palms gently, Louis brought his lips close to Harry’s ear. “There’s my good boy. You listen so well. Are you comfortable?”

Harry wiggled his arms and nodded at Louis. “Yes, ’m good.”

“Good.” Louis reached for the lube and snicked it open. With a smirk and an eye on Harry, he maneouvred himself so he was looking away from Harry as he straddled his hips, giving Harry a perfect view of the luscious curve of Louis’ arse. 

Harry nearly choked on his tongue. 

Leaning forward slightly, he used one hand to balance on Harry’s thigh, and reached behind himself, to start circling his hole with wet fingers. The angle wasn’t great for Louis, but it was fucking amazing for Harry. 

“ _Christ_ , I used to dream about this when I was younger.” Harry was so turned on, his whispered words came out like a whine. 

Louis huffed out a laugh as he kept working himself open. “What? Getting a boy to finger himself in your lap?”

Harry gave a frustrated grunt and he tried to reach for Louis’ arse, only to remember his hands were tied. “Fuck, no. Not just a boy. _You_ . I used to dream about you sitting on my cock. This _fantastic_ arse, just bouncing up and down. _Shit_.” Harry grit his teeth at the memory. “I used to come so hard thinking about you that summer we worked together. I wanked so often I thought my dick was going to fall off.”

Louis threw his head back and moaned loudly as Harry spoke, working his fingers into himself faster. Apparently satisfied he’d opened himself up enough, he swung his leg around and sat on Harry’s thighs, facing him this time. 

“I love that filthy mouth of yours, baby.” Louis smirked as he slowly rolled a condom over Harry’s dick and slicked it up with more lube. “So I’m going to let you keep using it, if you want to. Mostly because I love to hear the noises you make when I fuck you.”

Harry gurgled out a moan as he tilted his chin to the ceiling, grinding his head into the pillow. 

“Yeah...just like that, baby. You sound so good.” 

Panting shallowly as he raised up on his knees, Louis reached behind himself and began to tease his lubed up hole with the head of Harry’s stiff cock. Harry moaned at the sensation, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“Gonna let me use you, baby? Gonna make your daddy feel so good aren’t you?”

“Y-yes… please. ‘M gonna be good for you.” 

“Eyes on me, baby,” Louis whispered. “I want you to watch as you fill me up with your gorgeous cock.” 

Harry’s head snapped forward, his arms straining with the impulse to sink his hands into the soft flesh of Louis’ hips as he pressed down, achingly slow, taking Harry in inch by inch. Breathing heavily once he was fully seated, Louis’ face was beatific––eyes closed, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat and probably some kind of fucking stardust he was clearly made out of. Harry wanted to stay in this place forever. 

Louis’ raspy voice cut through the haziness of Harry’s brain. “Feel so good baby… fill me up so well. Just lay there looking pretty for me… letting me use you.”

As Louis’ body adjusted, he began to move––first in sinful undulation, just grinding himself on Harry’s cock. Then, using the strength of his powerful thighs, he began to rise and fall, impaling himself over and over. 

“Daddyyyy… please.” Harry’s mouth dropped open in a loud moan as Louis leaned forward to brace himself on Harry’s chest and change the angle. 

“So loud today, darling. What on earth will the neighbours think?” His tone was gently mocking as Harry’s cock slid in and out of the tight grip of Louis’ hole. The slick sounds, coupled with Louis’ dirty mouth threatened to send Harry over the edge. 

“Poor Mrs. Doherty next door. She must be getting quite an earful listening to you beg for your daddy.” Another quirk of his eyebrow and Louis leaned forward just enough that his whispered breath skated across Harry’s lips. “I think maybe I should give you something to keep your mouth busy so you can stay quiet, hm?”

“Ngh… yesss.”

Tapping two of his slim fingers up against Harry’s mouth, Louis spoke with a sweet gentleness. “Open up, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna give you something to suck on.” 

Harry did as he was told and felt two of Louis’ fingers slide in around either side of his tongue. Closing his mouth around them, Harry felt himself become even more at ease, like he was sinking deeper into a cloud. Harry sucked and moaned while his tongue swirled sloppily around Louis’ fingers, so messy that the excess saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth. Louis’ voice was somewhere far away, praising him as he wiped the sweat-matted curls from his face. Harry had never felt more beautiful. 

He felt Louis hold the condom in place as he rose up out of his lap to lean forward and untie Harry’s hands. As he massaged Harry’s wrists and fingers, making sure the blood was still flowing properly, Louis’ whispered words floated into his ear.

“Are you still with me, baby? You doing OK? You look so beautiful. So good for me… giving me everything I need.”

A slow smile spread across Harry’s face as he blinked up at Louis. “Hi daddy… I’m fine.” A confused frown creased his forehead as he looked at Louis’ body. “Still hard though.”

With a quiet laugh, Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s thick hair. “Yes, darling. As good as it felt, your old man got a little tired of riding you.”

Harry beamed at the description, mumbling to himself. “My old man…”

Giving Harry’s cheek a gentle stroke with his hand, Louis lay down, spreading his legs. “Come on baby, show me what you can do with that thing.” 

Kissing Louis’ palm, Harry arranged himself between Louis’ legs so he could lean over him and kiss along his neck and nip at his collar bones. “Can’t stop touching you… everything about you feels so good.”

“Don’t want you to stop, baby…”

“Gonna make you come daddy, gonna give it to you so good.” Louis pulled his legs towards his chest as Harry lined himself up and slowly pushed back in, both of them groaning at the sensation. 

“I know you will. Gonna make me feel that big cock of yours for days, aren’t you?”

Harry began rocking into him in a steady rhythm, his hands on Louis’ knees spreading him apart watching, fascinated, as his dick slid in and out. “You take me so well, daddy… fuck, you make me so _hard_. Thought about this so many times… can’t believe how good you feel.”

Picking up his pace, Harry punched moans and whimpers out of Louis as he began to stroke himself. Harry was so close, feeling like he’d been on edge for hours. But he knew daddy had to come first. Switching his angle slightly, he felt Louis’ body tense as a hissed “Yessssss” slipped through his gritted teeth. Doing his best to keep hitting that spot, Harry worked himself into Louis over and over. 

“Don’t stop, baby… gonna make daddy come so hard. Oh… god…”

Louis came, shooting all over his hand and belly, the contractions around Harry’s cock so intense that he nearly blacked out. Pumping deep into his hole two, three, four times more, and he was following Louis over the edge, shooting hard into the condom. 

Harry carefully pulled out and removed the condom, tying it off and dropping it in the bin by his bed. Collapsing at Louis’ side, both of them breathing hard, Louis turned his head and smiled. 

“That was… amazing. Can’t believe it took you eight years to finally shag me.”

Harry barked out a laugh, leaning over to kiss Louis’ mouth. “It definitely surpassed anything I could have imagined back then.”

“Well, _you_ have definitely surpassed everything I thought you were when I picked you up at my exhibition.”

“Oh, _you_ picked _me_ up? Maybe _I_ reeled you in. I’ve been told I’m quite charming.”

“Oh, you are, indeed. And _so_ much more, baby.”

\----

**Two years later**

“Where are we going?” They’d been driving for more than half an hour and Harry was antsy, although excited. Louis always had an adventure up his sleeve and Harry always had a hard time being patient. 

“I told you it was a surprise, love.” He turned to Harry with a soft smile. “But I think you’ll like it.”

In the years they’d been together Harry had created a successful career for himself and no longer felt the same fears about financial stability he’d once had. But the feeling of Louis taking care of him would always give him goosebumps. 

Twenty minutes later they were driving down the narrow roads of a quiet village. As they passed quaint cafes, a bookshop, a market whose stands were piled high with fresh fruit, and small cottages dotting the green hills, Harry still had no idea what was going on.

“It’s pretty here, isn’t it, baby?” Louis’ eyes were still on the road, presumably making sure they wouldn’t get lost. 

“It’s very sweet. Like a fairytale almost.” Harry smiled softly, remembering the picture book he’d painted for Louis’ youngest niece. 

He sat up straighter as Louis turned down a dirt road lined by fantastically old oak trees, their branches twisted and gnarled. Eventually a large house came into view, white with a tiled roof and large windows framed with black shutters. Harry turned to Louis with a frown. Were they visiting someone? He hated showing up empty handed if they were. 

Parking the car in the front driveway, the two of them got out––Harry, confused and turning this way and that to take everything in, Louis smiling and pulling a key out of his pocket to open the front door to the house. 

Wide-eyed Harry grabbed his arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What. The Fuck. Are you doing?”

Laughing, Louis took Harry’s hand and led him inside. “When we first met you told me about what it was like for you, growing up––how little you had, how hard your family struggled.” 

As Louis spoke, Harry took in the house they’d walked into; sunlight poured in through the leaded glass windows and spilled across the wide planks of the oak floors, making everything feel cosy and warm. 

“Yeah…? It certainly wasn’t anything like this. I- what’s going on?”

Louis continued to walk through the house with Harry close behind him. “I remember you talking about how art felt like your only refuge, and that you used to sneak into that old garden and pretend you were someone else, somewhere else.”

Harry felt the memory lodge in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes. So many years and it still hurt to think about. “Yeah. I remember.”

“So, remember a few weeks ago when I had that meeting about an installation at a country estate?” Harry nodded, still following Louis through the kitchen into the dining room. “Well, on my way back I stopped in this village for a bite to eat… that little cafe with the blue awning that we passed? Did you notice it?”

“Louis… I love you but could you _please_ get to the point?” 

Grinning and giving Harry a kiss on the cheek, Louis continued. “Anyway… I got to talking to the lady who runs it. Turns out she also sells property out here.” Louis’ eyes had started to twinkle as his smile grew. “She showed me this house. Said it could make a lovely family home for someone…”

Louis had stopped in front of a room towards the back of the house. “When she showed me this room… all I could think of was you.”

As he pushed open the double doors, Harry was temporarily blinded by the bright light pouring in through the walls of the huge windows. Harry whipped his head around to stare at Louis. 

“It’d be an amazing studio, wouldn’t it, baby?” Louis walked towards the double doors at the side of the room and swung them open. “And _this_ … this has your name all over it.” 

Harry followed him outside, his hands covering his mouth in shock. Outside the perfectly perfect studio was an enormous garden, just as wild and overgrown and colourful as Harry’s secret garden had been, but more lush and less secret. Delicate pink magnolias covered the trees closest to the house and further back, beyond the hedgerow and rose bushes, grew an old oak tree as gnarled and twisted as the ones out the front were. As they made their way through the garden, he could see the tree had a wooden swing suspended from one of its huge lower limbs.

He’d barely said a word since Louis had opened the doors to the sun room but now he turned to him, eyes glossy with tears, throat clogged with emotion. “Louis Tomlinson. What have you _done_ ? Have you gone and bought a _house_?” 

Louis smiled and pulled Harry to sit on the swing with him. “No, baby. But I’d _like_ to buy a house. With you… for us. I’d like to give you everything you never had and have a place to make new, happier memories.” Pausing, Louis took both of Harry’s hands. “I’d like to watch you paint in that room and find peace in this garden. I’d like to cook, and raise children, and celebrate holidays, with you in this house. And most of all, I’d like to love you and grow old with you in this house… if you’ll have me. And the house.” 

Harry’s tears had been steadily falling as Louis spoke, but he croaked out a wet laugh at the last part of Louis’ speech and leaned in to kiss his lips. “I love you so much.”

“Is that a yes?” Louis smirked as he gently wiped the tears from Harry’s cheeks.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall hearing a question.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. Opening it up to offer the ring inside to Harry, he smiled broadly and in his poshest accent asked, “Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband, Harry Styles? Would you care to live here, in this house with me, and let me love you for the rest of our days?”

Harry climbed over to sit in Louis’ lap, nearly tumbling them both off the swing as it jerked under the lopsided weight. Laughing into Louis’ mouth as he kissed him again and again, Harry answered in _his_ poshest accent, “I would be delighted to be your husband, Louis Tomlinson. And I would want nothing more than to love, and to be loved by you, til the end of our days.”

And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is the first time I've written a piece of fiction this long, so it was really a fun challenge for me. I hope I managed to pull it off in a way that you enjoyed. If you did, please consider reblogging [the fic post](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/618768341893627904/gathered-on-wings-by-brooklynbabylon%22) on tumblr or retweet the fic post on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/twopoppies_art/status/1264628917182189568?s=20). If you'd like to scroll through my inspiration posts for this fic, you can do that [here](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/tagged/gathered-on-wings). Your comments and kudos mean the world to me...I will love you forever if you leave me one (or both)!


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